


Seeking a Dwarf

by coffee_maker



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Card Games, Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Fluff without Plot, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Implied Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus, PWP, Rating May Change, Romance, Smut, actually I'm pretty sure the rating will change, sensual seduction, will add more stuff later, yep the rating changed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-04-03 23:37:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 26,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4118838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffee_maker/pseuds/coffee_maker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of more or less short fics about Cassandra Pentaghast and Varric Tethras.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. War's End Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> I read a kissing meme on tumblr and this is what my brain made out of "War's End Kiss".
> 
> A huge thank you to Saphir, my wonderful beta, for reading, correcting and encouraging! If you'll find any mistakes, it's probably because I've been fiddling with the story afterwards. I don't know if this would've ever seen the light of day without you!  
> Saphir writes wonderful stories, so check them out here on AO3 :). 
> 
> So, this is my first attempt at fanfiction and I'm really excited about it. English is not my native language, so please let me know if you find any mistakes. I hope you'll have as much fun reading as I had with writing :).

The Elder One staggered. Cassandra couldn't dare to hope that they were about to finish Corypheus, finally. She sent a quick prayer to the Maker and charged once again, her battered shield up, her sword bloody and burred. She was so exhausted; the dragon had almost cost all of her energy. A crossbow bolt came shooting from behind, right into the Darkspawn's chest. Varric had been as steady as she, and Dorian still conjured his powerful spells on the enemy, but she had lost sight of the Inquisitor.

 

She buried her sword in Corypheus's thigh and the monster he had become shrieked in agony. Still, the  _thing_  lashed out to throw her back against a wall. The violent impact forced the air out of her lungs and she slid down the stones until she sat on the floor, torso backed up against the cold and bloody remains of the temple. She drew in a painful breath, choking on air sizzling with magic, then fumbled on her belt for a potion with slippery fingers. Whether it was her blood or somebody else's, she didn't know.

 

"Seeker, you ok?" Varric hurried to her side, crouching next to her.

 

"Yes," she answered, her voice  _almost_  firm, "The Inquisitor. Go." He hesitated.

 

"Varric, now's not the time..."

 

Varric snorted and handed her a potion. "Don't even try to argue. Drink it."

 

She looked after him, gulping down the bitter concoction and then saw green light spreading up to the sky. Trevelyan stood there, her hand with the mark high in the air and-

 

she closed the Breach with a powerful surge of light.

 

Cassandra leaned her head back on the wall and exhaled slowly.

 

Hell broke loose as the temple started to crumble.

 

"Up, Cassandra, we're leaving this marvelous party," Dorian grabbed her arm and pulled her on her feet.  She winced and stumbled over the rubble, not enjoying being dragged about.  

 

"Where's Varric?" She hissed as a shot of pain rushed through her back, "...And the Inquisitor." Dorian raised an eyebrow but she ignored it for now, too busy with staying on her feet on the shaking ground.

 

"Right behind you, Seeker," the dwarf panted from the back, falling debris on his heels.

 

The potion finally began to take effect as Cassandra rushed down the stairs of the platform and saw the rest of the Inner Circle and soldiers finish off the remaining demons. The earth had calmed in the meantime and she looked around, searching for their leader.

 

"Where's-," she started but saw Trevelyan stepping down the stairs, "Inquisitor, you're alive!" she exclaimed with a smile.

 

***

 

The road up to Skyhold was framed by cheering people. Cassandra smiled, like she had been since they got out of that Maker forsaken ruin. Today they would get back to Skyhold, today they would celebrate their victory, and today they would celebrate the end of this war against one of the first Darkspawn.

 

_But tomorrow_ , she looked at Varric,  _yes, tomorrow..._

 

"How's your back treating you, Cassandra?" Dorian appeared next to her, pulling her out of her thoughts.

 

"Much better, Dorian. Thank you for that salve," she smiled at him.

 

"Anytime," he said, bowing his head slightly. "Save me a glass of this fantastic Antivan red I know you still have?" He winked at her.

 

"Of course," she replied and watched him joining Bull and Varric in front of them. He locked his hand on Bull's arm. _Who would've thought?_ She smiled, and her eyes flickered to the dwarf.

 

They reached the courtyard, and all of Skyhold seemed to be laughing and dancing. She saw the Inquisitor taking the steps up to the main hall, flinging herself into the Advisors' arms. Cassandra was happy.

 

"Seeker?"

 

She hadn't noticed Varric coming up to her and cocked an eyebrow at him but failed to glare.

 

"Don't punch me when-" he tripped her up and caught her securely in his pair of muscular arms and continued, "-I take advantage of this, but there's something I have to do."

 

She watched him, surprised and breathless, lowering his head towards her and her eyes fluttered closed on their own. His mouth touched hers softly and the touch sent fires tingling across her skin. Her lips parted slightly and she lifted her head to deepen the kiss, darting the tip of her tongue out and tracing his lower lip, arms wrapping around his neck. He tasted salty, like the small beads of sweat that had been forming on his upper lip during their ascent, and sweet, like the bottle of wine that had been circulating earlier. A small moan escaped his throat and his tongue danced with hers, tangling, teasing, tasting. She pressed herself against him and felt his arms tightening around her torso in return.

 

People cheered and whistled around them, and she felt a deep blush creeping up her neck when they broke the kiss for some air. She could hear Bull's laughter echoing through the keep, along with the faint words  _bet_ and _won_. She decided to ignore it. Until later.

 

"No more excuses, Seeker," Varric whispered in her ear. She locked her eyes with his, searching.

 

She nodded and felt the smile on his lips before he captured hers again.

 

_Indeed_ , she thought,  _no more excuses._

 


	2. Drunk Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to Saphir! Thank you so much for beta-ing! :)  
>  
> 
> I've always liked the idea of Cassandra loosening up when she drinks too much :).

Cassandra wakes up reluctantly. It's still dark outside and her head is spinning like a top. She feels the hard surface of her cot under her back and the rough cloth of the blanket between her hands. There is a woolen feeling on her tongue. Then she groans as a rather blurry realization hits her. It is less of a hit, really, as this implies some sort of speed and impact and there is nothing fast about the Seeker at the moment.

 

She had been to the tavern last night.

 

Bad idea.

 

Bad, _bad_ idea.

 

Especially when there are not only drinks but also roguish company.

 

Realization hits her again, and a bit harder, when she feels a heavy weight on her waist. A warm body flush to her back. An arm below her head. And soft breath on her neck.

 

She anxiously searches for a distantly familiar sweet ache between her thighs and relaxes a tiny bit. There is none and _thank the Maker_ , she is wearing at least her tunic. She isn’t quite sure if she should feel relieved, embarrassed, or regretful, though. Her head is too much of a big ball of cotton-wool to form a coherent thought, anyway.

 

She can't remember much of how she'd gotten back to her quarters, just whispered words, longing kisses, coaxing entreaties with...

 

With whom?

 

Cassandra stiffens, belatedly. She has a vague suspicion and squints at the hand that belongs to the arm she rests her head on. What little silver moonlight comes from her window doesn't really help much on that matter and she huffs in frustration.

 

“Shh, Seeker. Go back to sleep. It’s too early,” a sleepy, husky voice mumbles behind her. _That_ voice she knows well. All those hours spent together? For better or worse, she won't forget his voice. Ever.

 

Languorous sensation tingles down her spine and she wonders how, of all the men in Skyhold, _he_ ended up with her in bed. Probably because most of the other men are scared shitless of her. She snorts, trying to smother the slowly growing fondness in her heart.

 

“Go back to sleep,” he repeats. He must feel her stiffness, because he continues. “You’re safe with me. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to, as tempting as it is,” he chuckles lowly, adding that last bit just below his breath. “First get that Qunari liquor out of your system, alright?” Finally, he seems to notice his firm grip around her waist and his arm under her head. He tenses and pulls away a bit, hesitating.

 

“Shit, I’m an idiot and you’ve had too much to drink. I should leave.”

 

“I–“ she tries to pull her wits together and soon discovers that it's futile. All she can think of is that she likes his touch. A lot. And she wants it to last. She must be still way too drunk, she figures, but before she can think better of it, she half-mumbles, half-slurs, “No, shtay. Please?”

 

 _Surely the alcohol made me say that_ , she thinks as her stuttering brain tries to make sense of her answer. Definitely the alcohol. Why did she drink so much again? _Maker, take the Qunari liquor. And take it now!_

 

But the comforting warmth she had felt with his arms around her was heavenly. The jolts down her spine when she had heard his low voice behind her back were exciting.  And the feeling of his chest when it pressed against her makes her yearn for the feel of his skin against hers. For a split-second, she considers pulling the tunic over her head.

 

Maker, she needs to control her breathing. And her heartbeat, as well. As soon as her slow brain is capable of giving those sorts of commands again. She gets distracted by her own laborious thinking and forgets the urge to undress.

 

When he keeps his distance, she moves around, props her head up on her hand and tries to find his eyes _. Maker, take this unhelpful moonlight, too!_

 

“V’rric?” She almost hiccups and her oh-so-heavy head wavers back and forth. She's having a hard time focusing on his blurred features.

 

“Hm?”

 

“I didn't dislike y'arms ‘round me.” A very small voice in the back of her mind is disagreeing vehemently with this statement. This is _Varric_ she wants to feel against her, the voice protests. And then she successfully drowns the objection in the remaining alcohol flowing through her body.

 

“I'm surprised you're showing me your soft side, Seeker; it's usually so well hidden under all that armor,” he says teasingly before he pulls her close to him again. She answers with a half-hearted disgusted noise which turns out to be more of a happy sigh and it makes him chuckle.

 

Cassandra places a peck on his bare collarbone, nuzzles her face against the crook of his neck and lazily puts her arm around his chest. She can sense him tensing at her unexpected movements and she smiles against his skin when he relaxes again.

 

This feels perfect.


	3. Unexpected

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Saphir, thank you again for corrections and suggestions! I really appreciate it :).
> 
> I don't think I can stop writing fluff about those two anytime soon ;).

“What are your plans?"

 

Cassandra stands outside the tavern, catching some fresh air above on the ramparts and looking down on the many tents by the lake, when Varric approaches her. After all the official celebrations after Corypheus’s defeat, the Inner Circle finally have some time to themselves. Exhausted and happy, and maybe a bit numb, they’ve been winding down at the Herald’s Rest.

 

“I am not quite sure,“ she says. “After all this–“ she stops for a brief moment. “We all... I was so focused on the next task, on surviving. It seemed so unlikely that we even would get out of all of this alive.” Her voice trails off, her Nevarran accent more pronounced than usually. She definitely is worn out, with her hands clasped on the stone parapet and her shoulders tense. She knows that deep lines of worry had formed on her face during the past weeks and they would be engraved around her eyes for a while.

 

“What about you? Going back to Kirkwall?”

 

Varric leans on his elbows next to her. Their arms brush slightly, but she doesn't mind. She relaxes and enjoys their rare proximity.

 

"Didn't you want to drag me to Nevarra with you?“ he teases her with a grin. She laughs quietly and nudges his elbow.

 

“Should be going back, right?” He continues, more serious this time. “Kirkwall’s probably not holding up well, with me all gone for so long. I should deal with the Merchant’s Guild. And perhaps I could write a few exciting reports about restorations for you, and some about stupid nobles for Ruffles.” He watches the flickering fires down in the camp.

 

"It won't be the same without Hawke," he adds with a barely audible voice. Cassandra squeezes his shoulder and an indication of surprise flickers over his face before he relaxes into her touch and accepts her comfort.

 

“You still have friends there. They will be happy to have you back,” she answers, with just a hint of sadness in her voice. Varric gives her a thoughtful look and she almost expects him to ask what she really means.

 

“I have friends here, too, you know. I made friends I’d never thought to be friends, after all.” He sighs. “Although some of them need to work on their anger management and stop stabbing my books,” he adds dramatically, but with a smirk.

 

"Just let the Guard-Captain die in your next chapter and I will make sure to personally hunt you down. I’m not sure if stabbing books will be all I’ll do then," she threatens, not even half-heartedly, and with a smile.

 

“Oh no, Seeker, you surely wouldn’t stab your most favorite author, would you now?” Varric touches his chest mockingly, just above his heart. Despite herself, Cassandra is starting to laugh loudly, a rare and rough sound that comes from deep inside of her. His eyes twinkle up at her and a smug grin shows on his face.

 

“Maybe not. But how could you make something like that up to me? By showing me how far that glorious chest hair goes?” She smirks at him. Then she notices her slip and feels the blood rush to her neck and face.

 

 _Maker's breath, how did those words make it out of my mouth?_ Her face is hot. A big hole, just opening beneath her would come in handy right now. _Please, Andraste?_

 

She feels Varric’s gaze and his arm touching hers. She considers moving a step away, when he says,

 

“Would that really be such a horrible thing?”

 

The shade of red on her skin deepens further and only her stubbornness prevents her from bolting. He shifts and then she feels warm fingers trailing along her forearm until they reach her palm. His strong hand curls around hers and her breath hitches. She finds herself entwining her fingers with his, and she swallows hard, trying to calm her thumping heart with a few deep and controlled breaths.

 

“Seeker? Did you just turn mute by any chance?” he says after a couple of moments. She finally looks at him. A confusing mixture of feelings jump uncoordinatedly through her mind... affection, fear, curiosity, embarrassment, and just a hint of regret.

 

He reaches up to her cheek and caresses her face gently. When he moves his hand behind her neck to pull her down to him he hardly has to pull at all.

 

It starts with a chaste kiss, and she's aware that they could easily be interrupted by a messenger. But she's wanted this for far too long to be sensible, so she parts her lips a bit and nips his gently before a suppressed moan leaves her mouth. He jerks at the sound, mouth hovering a hairsbreadth from hers and a different kind of heat shows in his eyes.

 

Cassandra presses her lips on his with intent, her tongue demanding entrance, and he opens his without hesitation. She wraps one hand around his neck, playing with his hair, and leaves the other one locked in his hand. Their tongues touch and dance, and she wonders why they hadn’t done this so much sooner. His fingers squeeze her hand and he puts it on his chest where she immediately starts to tangle them through his soft hair. A groan escapes the back of his throat. His hand slowly moves to her hip and grips her tightly.

 

She flinches and they breathlessly break the kiss.

 

“What’s wrong?” he whispers, concern and confusion showing on his face.

 

“I’m–” she flinches once more and tries to move away from the hand on her waist. “I’m not _really_ ticklish but–” she answers, and she makes an attempt to suppress a giggle.

 

_Maker’s breath, when was the last time she had giggled?_

 

“You _are_ ticklish! Mighty dragon-slaying Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast, bane of all bears in Thedas, defeated by tickling?” He laughs and goes to her waist with both hands, gripping it slightly and letting his fingers dance along her sides.

 

She squirms and wriggles and tries to wind herself out of his touch. Her giggle turns into uninhibited laughter as she ineffectually fights him off.

 

“Stop it, will you?” She's catching her breath when she finally gets a firm grip on his big hands, still laughing and with a face that almost hurts from happiness. She sees its reflection in beautiful laugh-wrinkles around Varric's eyes. Cassandra is smiling as she bends down for another kiss.

 

Maker, she had never thought that falling so deep could feel so good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a very ticklish person and I just can't properly defend myself if somebody tickles me, especially if I don't really want to hurt that person. I figure it's pretty much the same for other people, as well, even for the Cassandras amongst us :).


	4. Jealousy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Self prompt based on "Wait a minute. Are you jealous?"
> 
> Thanks again to Saphir for putting so much valuable work into betaing my fics! You are lovely :).
> 
> I have taken my liberties with Wicked Grace as I couldn't really figure out how that works ;).

Cassandra clutched the cards to her chest. She felt Lavellan's eyes on her, probably counting the many tells she had. Varric had told her repeatedly to control her features. She was working on it, really. Still, she pretty much always lost when he gave her a lesson. Even worse, he always seemed to know exactly what kind of hand she held.

 

They never played for money during their lessons, though. He'd claimed it would be unfair to relieve her of her pay. Instead, if she won, he promised to write another chapter of _Swords and Shields_ for her _._ If he won, she would read passages from her favorite books out loud to him. For research, he said. Needless to say, her reading skills have been improving a _lot_ during the past weeks.

 

She squinted her eyes at the small heap of money on the table and back at the cards. Lavellan was still in, but he couldn't have a good hand because his left ear had been twitching. Varric and Leliana had just folded. Quite unexpectedly so. The Nightingale's hand surely had to be better than hers?

 

"So, Cassandra, are you yielding, finally?" Lavellan looked at her with a smirk and she pursed her lips.

 

She threw a gold sovereign on the table and hoped nobody would notice her sweaty hands. That money was the last she'd brought with her and she wanted to win the coins back she had already lost tonight. And she definitely would _not_ wager any of her clothing. Cullen's walk of shame was still fresh in her mind. She chuckled lowly at the thought and caught Varric observing her. Cassandra raised an eyebrow and then looked away, her glance switching between Leliana and Lavellan.

 

"Show me," she said and put the Angel of Death on the deck. She felt a pleasantly risky rush of adrenaline shoot through her body and she was eager to see the Inquisitor's cards.

 

He laid them out with a self-satisfied grin, and she compared hers to them.

 

"Is an Imperial Road better than a pair of Knights and a pair of Angels with the associated virtues?" She wrinkled her brows.

 

"Oh, Seeker," Varric groaned and covered his eyes with one hand, "What have my lessons been for?" She glared at him and watched the coins vanishing into Lavellan's purse.

 

"Cassandra, I should insist that we play for other things next time. Your clothing, maybe?" The Inquisitor said with a suggestion that was by far more for her ears than the others', she assumed. Her head jerked up just as fast as Varric's. Leliana's eyes widened a bit, if she could believe what she saw from the corner of her eyes.

 

"I don't think so," she answered and laid a pound of steel in her glance.

 

"Another round, Seeker?" Varric looked at her questioningly, already shuffling the cards, and she shook her head.

 

"I've had enough for tonight," she replied and stood up, "I shall take my leave."

 

"Let me walk you to your loft," the Inquisitor quickly said and got up, too. Cassandra heard a snort from where Varric sat, and she felt her cheeks warm up. She pointedly did _not_ look in his direction.

 

"As you wish."

 

***

 

"Morning, Seeker."

 

"Good morning, Varric," Cassandra said and rubbed her temple to subdue her headache. She stirred the tea in her cup.

 

"Long night?" the dwarf asked. She thought she heard an unexpected undertone and cast him a sidelong glance. There were dark circles under his eyes, and this morning, his ponytail seemed to be put together with less care than usually. She felt confident to judge as much, since they had eaten breakfast together almost every day recently. Funny how, unspoken, they both shifted their schedules to accommodate the other. She had decided it was more sensible to breakfast after training instead of before, and he seemed to be getting up earlier than he had been.

 

"Not as long as yours, I am sure," she grumbled into her tea.

 

"Well, _I_ went straight to bed after the game last night," he replied, and in his voice was more than a hint of snappishness.

 

She narrowed her eyes at him and felt anger rising.

 

"How dare you insinuate that I... that–," Cassandra was lost for words and clenched her fist around the spoon in her hand.

 

"Just stating the obvious, right?" He shrugged casually.

 

"The _obvious_? What exactly is obvious here?" She glowered at him and his expression changed. His jaws were clenched so tightly that his teeth had to hurt. A vein on his forehead swelled, making his heartbeat visible. There was a fire burning in his eyes and her breath caught in the back of her throat.

 

_The teasing during lessons. The way he relaxed when she was reading to him. Him getting up earlier. Their conversations about pretty much anything during their breakfasts together._

 

"Wait, Varric," she said when a realization slowly swam to the surface of her thoughts, "Are you _jealous_?" She felt more confused than by the rules of Wicked Grace. Her pulse was accelerating.

 

"He's been practically undressing you with his eyes. And then he walked you back to your room. Why would you let him if you didn't want to..." his voice trailed off.

 

"Maker's breath," she exhaled and, aware of the handful of other people around them, leaned towards him to continue with a low voice, "To tell him that he's wasting his attention, of course."

 

Cassandra observed him digesting her words and a smug smile curved her lips. If Varric’s jealousy wasn't so perplexing, she'd find it utterly endearing. Myriad emotions passed over his face, replacing his normally so nonchalant expression, and the angry fire in his eyes turned to something softer but no less striking. He looked at her and her heart leaped.

 

She leaned further forward, almost touching his ear with her lips, and smelled his scent. It sent a jolt through her and blood was thrumming through her veins.

 

"I suggest _you_ walk me to my quarters, next time," she murmured, and she saw a small shiver rippling over his skin as she moved a bit away.

 

"I could walk you there right now," he said with a cheeky grin and Cassandra rolled her eyes more fondly than she was ready to admit. "Or maybe we'll have dinner first. Tonight?" He settled for something more sensible. If somebody could call the prospect of a _them_ sensible at all. She reached out to his hand with a feather-light touch and smiled.

 

"I'd like that very much."


	5. The Braid, pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra needs help with her hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story consists of two chapters. The first one is pretty much harmless, but the second one will be explicit and NSFW.  
> This is my first try to write smut, so keep those rotten tomatoes ready, if you like ;).
> 
> Saphir, thank you for everything. This one's for you.

The bear bellowed in rage and turned surprisingly quickly for an animal of its size. The Inquisitor ducked away merely by a hair’s breadth and rolled to a deceiving safety on the side. The bolts from up the rock seemed to just bounce off the thick fur, and Cassandra charged in with her sword uplifted. Her strike hit the beast’s shoulder, and she drew its attention away from Lavellan. She snorted; the mage really needed to work on his close combat skills.

 

The Seeker parried the blow from the big paw and, _Andraste_ , this beast was strong. She wasn’t able to hit it with the following sword stroke, and rolled under the lashing arms. Her movement was stopped abruptly when her back hit a big branch that lay in her way. She hissed when it prodded her side. In a motion that seemed like instinct but was, in reality, the result of long years of training and battle experience, she propped up her shield, and it was not a second too early before the bear slashed at her with both paws. The blow's force was directly transmitted to her wrist, and the stinging pain told of a very heavy bruise or broken bones. She tried to scramble away, shield held upright with only her forearm for at least a bit of protection.

 

An ice spell from Solas hit the bear on the side of its head, closely followed by an exploding bolt from Varric. The Inquisitor added a fire spell to the mix and the beast finally fell, right next to Cassandra. She was breathing heavily and she hated to admit to a weakness, but she couldn't move her arm very much without waves of pain rushing through her hand.

 

“Cassandra, are you alright? Can you get up?” Lavellan sounded concerned when she simply stayed put, like a big bug on its back, and he went over to her.

 

“My shield-arm is injured. Can somebody lift my shield?” She grunted, and belatedly, “Please?”

 

Lavellan and Varric lifted the dented metal a few inches, so she could extricate her hand from the handle. She pulled her gauntlet off, slowly and carefully. The dwarf whistled when he saw her wrist.

 

“Seeker, that’s a hell of a bruise. Anything broken?” Varric’s eyes were fixed on her injury and then swept over her face and the rest of her body.

 

Cassandra started to pat her bones, wincing at the flash of hurt running through her hand. “Not sure. Maybe cracked, but broken? I don’t think so.” She looked at the blue-greenish tinge and wrinkled her nose.

 

Solas looked at her questioningly. She nodded, “Please,” and held her hand out. Tiny ice crystals covered her hand and wrist, letting it glint like little jewels spread on her skin. It looked beautiful, and the hurt was dampened by the coldness.

 

“Does anyone have a healing potion left?” Lavellan looked around, but all shook their heads. “Alright, then we’ll do it the old fashioned way until we get back to camp.” He looked around and then went a few steps away with determination. Cassandra saw the familiar outline of elfroot appear in his hand. For once, she wasn’t exasperated that their leader had such a keen eye and spotted all kind of things right away.

 

A paste from water and the healing herb was concocted quickly and spread on her bruise. She sighed, relieved; Solas’s ice spell and the elfroot were a beneficial combination.

 

With her hand covered in a makeshift bandage and her shield on her back, they walked back to camp. Cassandra had the urgent desire to remove the bear’s saliva and the mud from the ground off of herself.

 

“I need to wash,” she said after taking a healing potion and feeling so much better already. Her hand would be sore for a few days, and less dexterous than she was used to, but she would deal with it.

 

“Will you be alright?” the Inquisitor asked her.

 

“What? Do you plan on holding the soap for me?” she snapped and then reined her temper in, “It will take longer than usual but it will be fine.”

 

Matter-of-factly, Cassandra cursed her stubbornness and need for propriety only ten minutes later. Peeling out of her armor was bad enough, but after untangling her braid and washing the dirt out of her hair, she felt quite desperate about her disabled hand.

 

She walked back with a deep frown on her face, and the first thing she heard at camp came from somebody who obviously just couldn't resist making fun of her.

 

“What’s that look for, Seeker? Did a fish bite your a… arm?” Varric looked amused.

 

She glowered at him and hung her towel on a tent cord. Her long, dark strand of hair reached the small of her back and Varric's eyes lingered on it. She felt a bit uncomfortable without it being tucked away properly and lifted her chin.

 

She was just being silly. Nobody cared about her hair.

 

"Dinner, Cassandra?" Solas handed her a bowl with stew and she thankfully accepted it, together with a piece of bread. The warm food was wonderful after such a day.

 

They sat around the fire later, and Lavellan wrapped a fresh bandage around her hand.

 

"Was your hair that long before you cut it?" He looked at her wavy tail.

 

She nodded. "Yes. Good riddance."

 

"How so?" His eyebrows raised. "There are a plenty of lovely things you can do with long hair," he said in a suggestive tone, and she noticed Varric casting a glance with narrowed eyes.

 

She was reminded of this one scene in _The Knight's Rose_ where the rogue's long blond hair was wrapped in silk before she.... Her face turned pink when she noticed the direction her thoughts were taking. _Maker's breath_ , the Inquisitor was really flirting with _everybody_.

 

"Yes. Like not being able to wear a proper helmet. Or having your enemies fisting it and dragging you by the hair," she replied instead, accustomed to these types of questions since she was a young woman. Lavellan chuckled.

 

"Always sensible, dear Cass," he winked. "Anyway, your hand will be as good as new by the end of the week. Until then, no bears for you.” He flashed a smile and she sighed heavily. He stretched.

 

"Good night, my friends. We'll have a long day tomorrow if we want to make it to the feet of the Frostbacks."

 

"You are right, Inquisitor. I shall take my leave, too," Solas said, turning to his tent.

 

The dwarf nodded goodnight at them and pulled a writing board and a pot of ink with a quill out.

 

"What are you working on?" Cassandra looked at him curiously and stretched her neck to catch a glimpse of his writing.

 

" _Hard in Hightown_ ," he said with his head bowed over the board, jotting a few sentences down.

 

"Oh," she replied and felt stupid at her own disappointment. She fixed her sword in the crook of her arm and began to clean it of blood and dirt. They both worked in silence, only interrupted by the scratching of his quill on parchment and the sharp sound of her whetstone.

 

The hair on her neck was annoying and she huffed when she pulled it off of her skin for what felt like the fifteenth time.

 

"Seeker, your huffing and puffing is distractive," Varric said exasperatedly. "Do you need help with it?"

 

"I am fine, thank you," she said stiffly.

 

"Really, anything to make you stop fussing. Can't concentrate on my writing.” He regarded her for a few moments. "I can braid it for you."

 

She held his glance in an attempt to figure out if he was, once again, messing with her. With him, she was never sure. But it was just too annoying to feel the unbound hair on her neck all the time. She got up and fetched her comb and the clips from her pack, handed everything to him and sat down with her back turned to him.

 

"There you go, Seeker," he said, and his warm and calloused hand brushed her neck when he took her hair in his hand to comb it down.

 

"How come you know how to braid?" Cassandra made an effort to distract herself from the tingling memory that his touch had left on her skin.

 

"Dwarf, remember?" His grin was audible. "We're supposed to know braiding by birthright, I guess. With all the pride we usually take in our hair."

 

"Except you," she remarked. He chuckled softly and his fingers seemed to linger a tad too long on her neck.

 

"Who says I don't take pride in my hair? There's plenty of chest hair, right?"

 

She laughed, despite herself, and her breath caught in her throat when one calloused fingertip ran along the shell of her ear. Sensation rushed through her veins.

 

She must be imagining things. Why would he touch her like that? Maybe she also hit her head earlier today. She blinked and tried to clear her head.

 

"Why did you keep the rat tail?" He wanted to know. She shrugged her shoulders.

 

"Women are supposed to have long hair, aren't they?" she answered, defensively.

 

"Bullshit," he snorted. ”Your hair length doesn't define how much of a woman you are. You're a Seeker, and that's the first thing people see. As soon as people look beneath the Seeker-shell, they look differently at you." She shook her head slightly at it.

 

"Don't tell me you've never noticed?" he asked her incredulously. She felt heat crawling up her cheeks.

 

His fingers kept plaiting strands of her hair together, and goosebumps ran over her skin when a gentle touch moved from her ear to her collar. Her breathing sped up and her heart thrummed when he repeated it on the other side of her neck. Something was coming to life inside of her, a something she had been suppressing for a long time.

 

"Varric?" Her voice croaked and she had to clear her throat, "What are you...?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't resist the cliffhanger *devilish laughter*. But the sexy part will follow soon :).


	6. The Braid, pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the smutty, explicit second part. Don't read this at work ;).

"Nothing," he replied and kept stroking her skin. His touch left warm traces on her and she was aware of how close he was next to her. She couldn't resist leaning into his touch and felt excitement streaming through her body.

 

"Finished," he said and his lips brushed the tip of her ear. She hardly stifled the moan that formed in the back of her throat. His hands laid almost flat on the sides of her neck, stroking down to her shoulders and moving up again. There was no way she could make him stop now. Andraste's tits, she didn't _want_ him to stop touching her. His fingers trailed along her jaw and she wanted to lift her chin like a cat and start to purr. Undeniable tension coiled in her belly and she shifted and rolled her hips slightly. It brought her no relief.

 

"Do you want me to put it up?" He asked her and slowly wound the braid around his fist. She complied readily when he softly pulled her head back by her hair and then trailed a line of kisses along her exposed neck. A low groan escaped her lips as she felt his tongue on her pulse. Her heartbeat was racing.

 

She turned around and he loosened his grip on her hair when she took his face in both hands.

 

"This," she said, licking her lips and staring at his, "Is a horrible mistake."

 

She crashed her mouth against his and he fastened his grip on the back of her head and pressed her closer. Their tongues fought for dominance and Cassandra felt wet arousal pooling between her legs. They broke the kiss after a few minutes and regarded each other with wide eyes.

 

"Varric Tethras, paragon of horrible mistakes," he deadpanned and Cassandra burst into low laughter.

 

She put her forehead against his and her mouth hovered only a fraction of an inch above his before she kissed him again. It was more sensual, more deliberate this time. She softly pulled on his lower lip with her teeth, darting her tongue out to tease him, and her arms wrapped around his neck.

 

"Tent?" she whispered.

 

"Yes," he panted, and she traced the tip of her tongue along the line of his jaw. He tasted salty, and she wanted to lick him up and down, every inch of his skin.

 

"If you're sure?" he continued.

 

She cocked her eyebrow and pulled him to his tent. "I wouldn't propose it if I was not."

 

He closed the tent flap behind them, and her hands were already roaming over his torso. She pulled his chest hair lightly and laughed as he playfully swatted her hands away. Her head fell back when he cupped her breasts and she reached for his shoulders to draw him into another passionate kiss. She arched her back against his touch as nimble fingers explored the skin beneath her tunic.

 

She fought with the few buttons of his shirt that were closed and pushed the garment off his torso. Her palms skimmed over his broad shoulders and muscular arms before she moved them lower.

 

"Seeker," he growled, "If you don't stop–" She cut him short with a well placed bite on his neck and broke away to pull her tunic over the head. His eyes were glued to her breasts and her chest moved with her rapid breathing. His fingertips trailed along the breastband and with an occasional flick over her nipple, he waited for her admission. Her body was _aching_ for his touch.

 

She nodded, and a second later, he nuzzled his face between her now bare breasts. His hands were roaming her back, tracing her scars gently and then moving to caress her mounds again. She felt his erection against her thigh and lifted her leg to grind it a little against him. He inhaled sharply.

 

"Maker," Cassandra hissed as he placed a circle of small kisses around her nipple and sucked on it. Her fingernails scratched gently over his scalp and she felt the approving hum more than she heard it. A low cry escaped her lips when she felt Varric's teeth on her stiff nipple and she reached for the laces of his trousers.

 

"Seeker," he warned her, "Don't start something you can't finish."

 

"Why do you think I can't?" she asked with heavy-lidded eyes and slid her hand along his length. He groaned and grabbed her butt in retaliation, stroking its curve and her leg.

 

She undid the fastenings and slipped her slender hands under the waistband to grip his bottom. His skin was warm and firm, and she pushed his trousers and smalls down. His cock sprung out against her thigh and his eyes darkened when she started to slowly move her hand up and down. Cassandra looked at him with a smug smile.

 

"You are wearing too much, Seeker," he said hoarsely.

 

A quiet laugh vibrated through her and she teased, "Do you really need help?"

 

Varric pulled her down for a kiss and a few seconds later, her remaining clothes were at her feet. She stepped out of the heap of cloth and nibbled on his neck. He smelled like fresh leather, a faint hint of parchment and something else she couldn't define further; something that made him smell like _him_. It aroused her so much that she pressed her lips on his, pushing him gently down on the bed roll.

 

She straddled his hips and rotated hers to let him feel how ready she was for him. Her braid tangled against her back, tickling her skin.

 

"Shit, Seeker," he panted, "that feels good." His eyes showed a hunger that led to a jolt of lust directly hitting her center. His glance flicked down to where she sat on him, down where she tried to alleviate the jingle in her clit by grinding it against his cock.

 

His eyes met hers again and when she bit her lip, he whispered, "Fuck me."

 

His demand left her breathless and she felt his hands on her ass, encouraging her to position herself over his length. She straightened her spine and thrust her breasts out when she felt the head touching her wet entrance. Varric's fingers squeezed her butt and she slowly lowered herself on him.

 

Her eyes rolled back in her head when he filled her and the feeling of being stretched by him almost undid her then and there. She lifted her hips and began to move, slowly first, then faster.

 

" _Cassandra_.” He said her name with reverence, raking his eyes over her body, followed by his hands.

 

Languid warmth washed over her. He’d hardly ever said her given name before, and definitely never in a tone like that.

 

"You are gorgeous."

 

She smiled and bent down, placing her elbows on either side of him and kissing the corner of his lips. He swiftly turned his head to capture her with his mouth. He moaned when she rutted herself against him, and he sucked on her neck. It had been so long that somebody had left marks on her skin that weren't from fighting. She wanted more of them, scattered over her whole body. All her senses were filled with pleasure. She saw beads of sweat forming on his chest. She licked along his collarbone and suppressed a loud moan that threatened to break free when he lifted her up to push deeper into her.

 

Cassandra straightened up and felt his hand guiding her movements and the other one rubbing her clit.

 

"Varric," she panted, "don't stop, _Maker_ , just don't stop." Her inner walls were tightening around him and then she fell over the edge into a heap of pleasure. She muffled her cry with her forearm and rode the waves out on him before she sagged limply on his chest. Her braid slid over her shoulder, coming to rest next to him. He pounded into her, long and deep strokes, his breath ragged and hot against her skin.

 

"Come for me, Varric," she said softly and sucked on his earlobe.

 

One fast thrust and another hard one. Then he went rigid and bit her shoulder, stifling his loud groan against her skin, when he spent himself in her. His head fell back and he exhaled, his hands slowly moving across her hips and ass.

 

"You look content," she said smugly a few minutes later, and propped herself up on one elbow, curling his damp chest hair around her fingers and tickling him as she drew patterns across his nipples with the tip of her long braid. She placed a few kisses –and a soft bite– on the skin above his heart.

 

"I am," he answered and wrapped his arms around her, writing small circles on her back with his fingertips. She kissed his jaw, smiling against the steady pulse on his neck.

 

They fell asleep wrapped around each other and with the firm intention to wake up early enough for Cassandra to get back to her own tent.

 

Of course, they overslept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, anyone having published a smutty fic for the first time knows how I'm feeling... Somewhere in between being highly embarassed and proud to have done it ;). But here it is. Hope you like it! :)


	7. Honey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I encountered something very repugnant on AO3 this week, and looking for a way to block specific users and whatever they post on here, I found these easy to follow instructions:
> 
> [Block stuff you don't want to see on AO3](http://allochthon.tumblr.com/post/72588794097/is-there-a-way-to-block-a-user-at-the-very-least)  
>    
> Try it, it vastly improved my reading experience! People who have been on AO3 for ages might know that already but maybe it helps other people as much as it helped me :).
> 
>  
> 
> My fic, again, is based on a self prompt: "I thought you'd be gone by the time I woke up..." from the Morning After meme on tumblr. Not explicit, but still NSFW.
> 
> Shout out to Saphir! Thank you for proof-reading :).

 

 

"I thought you'd be gone by the time I woke up..."

"Hnnnnghh." She turned her head and buried her face beneath the pillow. Varric laughed softly and put the tray on the bedside table. He had half-expected her to leave while he was getting breakfast from the kitchen. Most of the staff had looked curiously at him, since that really wasn't his time of the day. But the head cook had smirked conspiratorially when she handed the food over, and he couldn't completely smother a grin.

"Can't believe I got up earlier than you. For once, at least," he teased her.

A muffled "headache" came from her, together with a weak waving of her arm.

"Come on, I've got tea for you, and bread and cheese, and honeyed cakes." A slender hand lifted the pillow slightly, a brown eye peeping out at him. "I knew I'd get you with 'honeyed cakes’."

He slid under the blanket next to her warm and naked body and nudged her shoulder. She slowly turned around, and the thin blanket dropped lower, revealing two perfect breasts. The dwarf considered postponing breakfast when she propped herself up against the cushion and the headboard of his Orlesian bed. Cassandra was confident about her body and she had every right to be. He wouldn't talk her out of having breakfast with him without a stitch of cloth on her. _Hell no._

"How are you feeling? Mostly alive or mostly dead?"

"I'm alright," she answered sparsely. "I've had it worse."

"Good enough for breakfast?" he questioned and she nodded. He carefully placed the tray on his thighs and handed her a cup of tea. She looked at him over the rim of the mug with half-lidded eyes and a smile. His heart did funny things in his chest every time she smiled at him like that. Which had been quite often in the past eight weeks.

"Sweet or savory?" he asked and, really, he knew the answer before she even finished thinking.

"I want the cake," she said, predictably. He handed her the plate and watched her take a bite. Her eyes closed at the first taste of sugar and honey, and she almost looked like she did shortly after she came. There was definitely more noise when _he_ caused that look, though, more sweat and more trembling thighs, too. But that completely satisfied expression on her face? Well, it was close enough.

A drop of honey landed on her chest and his glance flickered between it and her eyes. She tilted her pastry and let another blob fall onto her skin, on the other breast this time and much, much closer to her nipple.

"Seeker," he groaned, eyes fixed on the sticky, sweet treat on her skin. She looked smug.

"Bull traded training the recruits with me last night, if I recall correctly?"

"Yeah, in exchange for you downing three shots of that terrible Qunari stuff. I'm surprised that you still remember." He winked, and added, "It would be too late now, anyway. Training started over an hour ago." He considered her, observing her reaction.

"So the first time I didn't sneak out before dawn was because I was obviously too intoxicated to care?" She frowned and a cold fist clutched around his chest. He should have known that she wouldn't want-

"Did we leave the tavern together?" she interrupted his thoughts.

He nodded slowly. "I basically had to carry you out." She raised an eyebrow and he just knew that she was looking straight through him this time. "There were a few remarks and whistles."

"A few," she stated evenly, and her eyebrow climbed up even higher.

"Pretty much the whole tavern," he admitted quietly, studying the tea in his hands and trying hard to swallow his disappointment about her secrecy.

She giggled softly.

His head jerked to her. He didn't exactly know what he had expected as a reaction, but definitely not a giggle. There had been only one or two occasions where she had giggled at all. Her hand wrapped around his neck, her thumb stroking his pulse and the line of his jaw. She pulled him closer and leaned forward to meet him in the middle. Her forehead rested against his, and he barely rescued his mug from spilling.

"I don't mind that everyone knows. I don't like the gossiping and the meddling, but I don't mind that people _know_ ," she whispered. "For all I care, they can get lost if they don't agree with you and me." She gently kissed him, and then pulled back and put the empty plate aside.

"I seem to be free until noon," she said, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "And this honey on my chest... do I really have to get up and wash it off now?" she asked him with a slow bat of her eyelashes.

That day, he found out that happiness tasted like honey on her skin.


	8. Massage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric's issues with sleeping on hard surfaces.
> 
> Another self-prompt from a meme: 4. Do you… well… I mean… I could give you a massage?
> 
> NSFW. Very explicit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, my day started with a great smutty chapter by Whiskey, so I figured I'd continue just like that ;).
> 
> My eternal thanks to Saphir, who's been beta-ing this smutty little thing!

Varric turned his whole upper body in the direction of the noise. He knew that it had to happen sooner or later, and he wasn't getting any younger. All that camping outside, those nights spent on thin bedrolls under mere canvas instead of real beds under solid roofs, they had taken their toll. But today was just not the right day for a stiff neck.

Cadash was explaining something to Dorian, and they laughed. Varric snorted. He had been the butt of their jokes all day long, and was seriously getting tired of it. Finally, they vanished into their tent, and Varric rolled his eyes at the love birds.

"Is your neck any better?" The Seeker took a seat next to him.

"If I hear one more word about old men and their little ailments..." he threatened and narrowed his eyes at her. She lifted her hands with the palms facing him; a gesture he had made towards her a few times. Just that _hers_ was honest.

"I was just asking, Varric," she said. "I do know how much a stiff neck hurts and how it constrains every move. Did that salve Dorian gave you help?" He shrugged his shoulders a bit and winced at the ripple of pain in his muscles.

"A bit. Better than nothing."

She considered him and played with a jar in her hands.

"Do you..." she started and hesitated a bit, "well... I mean... I could give you a massage?" A decent pink covered her cheeks and it looked good on her. She held up the jar. "This salve should ease your pain."

"Are you sure about that?" Varric felt a bit awkward at the thought of having the Seeker's hands so close to his neck. Sure, they had worked through the Hawke drama, and he knew the new chapter of _Swords and Shields_ that he'd just written for her was a major reason for it. And Cadash definitely had told everybody about the Bianca fiasco –and hell, he'd loved Bianca once so much and how did it turn into so much anger?– but... a bit of uncertainty about Cassandra's feelings towards him stayed. He'd rather there wasn't any of that uncertainty.

"Varric, it's a favor I’ve exchanged with many battle brothers before," she replied evenly and he looked at her with wide eyes.

Mental pictures of the Seeker giving a random soldier a massage coursed through his head. Big hands on her skin in return, kneading her muscles and trailing across her scars– he shook his head to get rid of those images he didn't want to think about.

He nodded slowly. "I'd appreciate it. Where..." his voice trailed off.

"I suggest your tent? If you're comfortable with that," she said.

"Sure, no problem. Not at all," he was quick to assure. He got up. Halfway through the motion, the pain struck again, and he only half-stifled his groan. She looked at him worriedly, but he only waved his hand dismissively and went to his tent.

The Seeker closed the flap behind her and turned around to him, the salve jar in her hand.

"Should I...?" He asked and plucked at the front of his tunic.

"Yes. And lay down on your stomach," she answered, uncorking the jar. There was an unfamiliar glint in her eyes when they flickered to his chest.

But sometimes even he didn't disagree with the Seeker, so he took off his tunic, lay down, and rested his forehead on his hands. A warm weight was pressing down on his ass.

She was straddling him. With her long, long legs spread apart and her perfect butt right on his. He felt his heart missing a beat, only to speed up afterwards.

Well, sure, how else would she be able to massage his back without breaking her own?

"I’ll put the salve on your neck now, alright?"

He grunted his assent and two firm hands with slender and callused fingers were gliding along his back muscles. It was divine, and he sighed. The tent filled with the scent of elfroot and embrium, and it was very soothing. The pain started to sneak away.

"Varric," she said as her hands started to press firmly into the knots, "You need to relax."

"I'm perfectly relaxed, Seeker."

"No, you are not. Your muscles are all stiff. Loosen them a bit. Otherwise this will hurt more than it should."

That sounded sensible. His neck was feeling so much better already and he wasn't planning on messing it all up again. He deliberately tried to relax his muscles, one after the other, guessing the way her hands would take.

"Better now," she said and her voice sounded very close to his ear. He cocked an imaginary eyebrow at himself. That was wishful thinking, at most.

Her thumbs pressed firmly along his spine and he hissed. He couldn't smother a groan when she worked the muscles between his shoulder blades and moved her fingers up his neck. Her hips rolled and he bit his lip. It felt good. It made him think about how this would feel with him on his back instead. He tried to fight the rush of arousal stirring in his groin. The Seeker was one hell of an attractive woman but she'd probably skin him alive if he ever told her that he had fantasies about her. Had been having them for quite some time, if he was honest.

She pushed the heels of her hand against his shoulders, rubbing in slow circles. He gasped at the pleasure-pain she caused and he thought he'd heard a faint _Maker_ when she firmly stroked down his arms. Her breath brushed along his neck and his trousers were getting tight. He was probably fine, though, as long as she didn't ask him to get up or turn around. The pain of his stiff neck was only a memory by now. His mind was more concerned with the pulsing in his cock. He swallowed in a desperate attempt to clear his throat in a not-so-obvious way and just hoped his voice wouldn't give out.

"Much better, Seeker. It feels great. What's in that salve?"

"A double dose of elfroot and embrium, mixed into some Orlesian specialty oils," she answered. "Solas gave it to me after that Giant's hit in the Emerald Graves. No doubt he added something else to make it so effective."

Cassandra moved her hands in circles down to his ass, being only stopped by the waistband of his trousers. He heard a rustling of cloth and a dull thump, and then she was digging her knuckles in the muscles along his spine and dragging them outwards. He exhaled a loud sigh from the depth of his lungs when she reached the part between his shoulders.

"Shit, Seeker, that's it. Right there." She shifted her butt a bit and pressed her thighs against his side, and now he groaned for a totally different reason than her massaging hands.

"Here?" she asked, her lips too close to his ear. His mind went blank for a moment when he felt her warm skin covering his back.

 _Fuck_. The rustling cloth had been her tunic.

He made a strangled noise of agreement and almost died a hundred pleasurable deaths when she worked on his knotted muscles. This was too damn good to be true.

Then he felt her lips on the back of his neck and sensation sizzled along his bones. His cock was definitely disagreeing with being trapped in his trousers. Varric shifted a bit, but it didn't help much.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," she murmured and placed a trail of kisses between his shoulders. Her nails raked down his back, and he imagined them leaving soft pink trails.

"Don't stop," he managed to reply, with his cock throbbing expectantly and his mind painting a beautiful picture of the Seeker, naked and sitting on him.

She bit his shoulder and sucked on his skin. It sent a shiver down his spine, right into the pit of his belly.

"Are you marking me?" he teased, a bit out of breath, and she stopped immediately.

"I apologize, I shouldn't have assumed–" she started and he cut her short when he forced her to lift herself by simply moving around under her.

"Didn't say you should stop," he said and put his hands on her hips to pull her softly down on him again.

He took her in. Her cheeks were flushed from embarrassment or arousal, or maybe a healthy amount of both. She still wore her breastband and his eyes lingered a moment on it, wondering how her skin would taste, yearning to find out what she would sound like when he bit her nipple just so.

He felt her shifting on his hard cock and there was absolutely no way she wouldn't notice his... _predicament_. It was his turn to blush. He wet his lips when he caught her staring at his mouth, and then he moved his hand to her face, gently tracing a thumb over her cheekbone. Her fingers were playing with his chest hair and he hissed when she flicked her thumbs across his nipples.

In a swift movement, he pulled her down and kissed her. She didn't waste any time being surprised, but pressed herself close and parted her lips, meeting his tongue with her own. She tasted like metal and elfroot and that sort of passion that distinctively was _Cassandra._ He couldn't get enough of it and deepened the kiss.

She broke the kiss to get rid of her breastband –an action he greatly approved of– and before she got back in her earlier position, he started to stroke her breasts, pinching her nipples and making her moan. Small and big scars covered her body, and he wanted to trace them with his tongue. She tasted soft and sweet, as he found out a moment later when he kissed across her skin.

He placed a bite mark – _his_ mark and he smiled at the thought– on her neck but then her hips jerked. His groan was muffled against the crook of her neck and a jolt of hot sensation flushed his veins and centered in his cock.

"Seeker-" he tried and failed to finish the sentence when he saw her dark, wide eyes while she was grinding herself against him. He swallowed hard as she scooted back on his legs and started to tug on his laces. The gaze she gave him beneath half-lidded eyes almost made him come undone. He had never before seen a woman look at him with so much unveiled want.

He caught her hands before she was able to free his cock. He hated the surprised, almost hurt, look in her eyes.

"Seeker," he said hoarsely, "Are you sure you want this?" _Please, Andraste, let her say yes._

"I do," she answered without hesitation, looking at her hands in his, then into his eyes again. "I wanted to since you gave me the latest chapter of _Swords and Shields_." She blushed and he was ready to swoon. He had introduced new characters to the series. A warrior and a rogue. Any similarity to living persons were only coincidence, of course. Or so he had told himself. She had liked the chapter.

Obviously, she'd liked it _a lot_.

"Is that so?" He loosened his grip and pulled her down to him into a slow and sweet kiss. When he felt her hands on his waistband again, he didn't stop her. His head fell back when she squeezed his cock, and he lifted his butt to help her pull his clothes down.

Pleasure was washing over his mind with her hand moving up and down his length, and he let out a quiet moan. He opened the laces on her trousers and dipped his eager hand in her smalls. She rolled her hips into his touch and he hissed when he felt how wet she already was. A throaty whimper escaped her when he caressed her clit and pushed a finger inside of her. She rocked against his hand and protested when he extricated his finger only a few thrusts later.

"Shush, Seeker, there will be more of that," he promised with a quick peck on her breasts and it seemed to dampen her disappointment. He rolled his shoulders experimentally and was grateful that she'd massaged all the pain away.

He lifted her and laid her on her back. His hands all but ripped her clothes off, his feet kicking his trousers out of the way, and then he marveled at her naked form. Her chest rose and fell quickly, her breasts waiting for his touch. He saw her folds glistening and licked his lips in anticipation as he gently spread her legs. A smug grin played his lips when she muffled her moan with her hand as he plunged two fingers in and bit the inside of her thigh. She was going to need more than a hand to keep quiet.

His tongue traced big circles around her clit and she made a keening noise that spurred him on. She tasted tangy and a bit salty and he enjoyed her on his tongue. Her hips trembled when he took her bud in his mouth. He gently sucked on her and she tightened around his fingers. Her breathing was getting ragged with his licks getting faster, loud pants leaving her lungs, and, just in time, she pressed his pillow against her face when his crooked finger found that sensitive spot inside, and she screamed in bliss. The feeling of her orgasm on his fingers clouded his mind with lust and he let her catch her breath before he moved up to kiss her.

She deepened the kiss, playfully darting her tongue out and licking along the seam of his lips. The thought that she was tasting herself on his mouth, that she came to him to seduce him, drove him crazy. Her mouth traveled to his neck to lavish him with kisses and small bites that would surely show tomorrow. He wanted her too badly to really mind; he wanted all of her. She rolled her wetness against him, her hands splayed on his ass, and he was about to lose it right then and there. His erection was ready to burst, craving to fill her completely.

"Fuck me, Varric," she whispered in his ear, half demand, half plea. Her hand snuck down between them and stroked and guided his cock against her opening. She inhaled sharply when he slid inside her tight core in one slow and fluid movement, and he rested his head on her breasts to restrain himself. Her hot, wet flesh felt too good around him to pursue his release quickly. Her eyes were wide in wonder when he pulled out and then thrust deep into her, and he was enraptured by the wanton noises he could pull out of her.

Her hips rocked against him with force; one hand cupped his face, the other in a tight grasp on his ass. A string of soft cries left her lips when he sped up, fucking her harder. Her skin was flushed, her breasts were bouncing, and he was soon reaching his limits. She rolled her eyes to the back of her head and he felt one of her hands moving down, rubbing her clit, teasing his cock from time to time with her fingertips.

Varric desperately thought of unsexy things. Cole's hat. Blackwall's beard. The dragons in the Emprise.

The blood was hammering through his body when Cassandra dignified each and every deep thrust with a moan or cry. He knew that it must be more than clear to the others what was going on between them tonight, in case they weren't too occupied with themselves. He didn't give a fuck; he just wanted her to come again and he merely had seconds before he lost control.

He felt her tightening around his cock, saw her back arching towards him and he reached out to play with her nipples. To pinch them, just as she seemed to like it.

"Look at me, Cassandra, I want to see you," he pressed out and she looked at him. Her eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, and they rolled a tiny bit when she finally clenched around his length. She cried out in ecstasy when she climaxed, eyes closing only for a second, and he felt heat flashing through his veins. The tension in his belly snapped, shooting fiery waves of pleasure along his bones. She watched him come, watched him fall apart and spill himself in her and _Maker's balls_ , this had to be the most intense orgasm he'd ever had.

She exhaled a shuddering breath and he collapsed on her, still connected with her. He felt her twitching around his softening cock and he grinned against her skin.

"You keep doing that and we'll go for round two," he said. He felt her laugh before he heard it.

"Is that so? Maybe in a little bit," she answered and his grin became wider. She clenched her inner muscles around him and he nipped her neck in revenge. They both chuckled at each other's gasps. She growled a little when he slipped out of her, and he nearly giggled at the sound which earned him a soft nudge. She tilted his head to kiss him, her fingers combing through his hair while his hands caressed her hips. He pulled the blankets around them and laid his head on her shoulder after another languorous kiss.

"You can be my pillow, Seeker. Bet it's lots better than the one I have," he mumbled, his eyes already falling shut. He stroked her rib cage, moving his hand across her stomach and settling it on her hip. Her arms wrapped around him and she pressed a kiss on the crown of his head.

Her strong and steady heartbeat in his ears was calming; the scent and feel of her skin made him feel _home_. It's been a long time since he'd fallen asleep so easily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now I'm off for some days at the beach :). Can't wait to feel salt water on my skin again.


	9. Sun and Weeds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a fill for a Dragon Age kink meme prompt (see below in the end notes). It's not explicit but maybe a bit NSFW, I guess.
> 
> Thank you so much for proofing, Saphir! <3

_Well, shit_.

It had taken him a while to figure it out, though. But all hints pointed in the same direction.

He was dying, slowly and very painfully. He always had hoped it would be a nice and quiet death, preferably when he was old and settled and asleep. But no, of course not. It had to be the Forbidden Oasis.

Fuck those shards that had led the Inquisitor here. Fuck the Inquisitor for bringing him here. Maker's balls, fuck the _Seeker_ for luring him to the Inquisition in the first place.

"Varric?" A choked sound from the woman in question emerged against his ears. He lay on his back on his bedroll, eyes hiding from the much-too-bright sun behind much-too-thin lids, and he refused to even turn his head to her. Every movement hurt like hell, a searing burn coursing over his body.

"What?" he barked out.

"Give me–" She was interrupted by a violent sneeze. And another one a second later. Actually, she had been sneezing quite a lot. "–A handkerchief," she finished.

He groaned. He couldn't move, he was hot, and he was in insufferable pain. Didn't she see that he was dying?

"I need it, now!" she growled, her rough voice accompanied by a nose-wracking sniff.

"Get it yourself," he snapped and suppressed the urge to open his eyes to look at her. He had seen enough of her earlier. She looked _bad_. Her eyes were watering and almost swollen shut, her nose had ballooned since yesterday, and her temper was worse than during their interrogation in Kirkwall. Shit, when had he started to think of it as _their_ interrogation? It hadn't been _theirs_ , it had been the Seeker interrogating him, the innocent victim of Chantry politics.

"Maker take you!" she yelled, but it was rather pathetic. You couldn't yell very well through a stuffed nose, after all. He heard her getting up and stumbling to the packs which leaned against a rough rock wall. Her predatory grace had vanished overnight and the patting sounds she made... Was something wrong with her eyes? She grunted triumphantly after a short while, and he heard her blowing her nose.

Shadow was scarce here. The camp set up by the Inquisition had a sun shield, though, and it was just big enough so he and the Seeker could lay there in total misery together in the shade, as long as they made sure to move with the position of the sun. She would be lying and he would be dying, he amended, pitying himself. Nobody else did it for him. He sensed her stepping over him, and she spread some sand on his chest in the process.

"Andraste's tits, Seeker, what's wrong with you?" he swore and, finally, opened his eyes, looking down his body and starting to brush the sand off his skin. He stopped as soon as his hand touched his chest and gave off an agonized hiss. It hurt like a too-close encounter with a rage demon. He turned his head to glance at her.

She still looked quite terrible, definitely not like the unbendable warrior he was used to. She also looked _vulnerable_ , and that was something he didn't expect at all. He squinted his eyes at the patch of shiny grey cloth in her hand. Its ends almost tangled on the floor, and he was trying to wrap his mind around the question of why she would have an overly-long silken handkerchief, when an unbelievable realization came to his mind.

"You did not!" he gasped. She stood there, his spare sash clutched in her hands, and he could have sworn that the corners of her mouth twitched up for a split-second. He saw red.

Later, he would claim that the sun had fried his brain too much to think straight. But now, the angry adrenaline was muting the pain, and he spun a quarter circle on his back to kick her feet away. She fell with a thump and a barely suppressed squeak, and he threw himself upon her, pinning her wrists above her head. He was astonished how easy it was to fell her, but her allergic reaction against that tumbleweed growing in abundance all over the place probably played a significant part in that.

A strange sparkle was in her eyes and he felt her lithe frame under his bulky one. She was taller, but he was broader, and he knew that she could hardly best him when it came to raw strength. People usually thought warriors relied on strength alone and that battles were won by force, but the Seeker was a brilliant tactician. Combine that with her techniques and skills, and there weren't too many foes that could beat her in battle. She started to squirm under him, just a little bit, but it was enough to remind him of two things.

 

For one, no matter how bad she looked at the moment, the Seeker was still way too attractive to be trapped beneath him without him reacting to it.

 

And secondly, his skin was on fire and he was dying of sunburn.

 

He groaned and he wasn't sure which one of the two reasons exactly was the cause. She squirmed more insistently, her arms pushing against his grip, her breasts pressing against his chest, and her back arching. _Maker's balls_.

"Get off me," she growled, but it lacked the usual venom she seemed to have reserved just for him.

"You used my sash as handkerchief!" he shot back. "It's made of silk!"

"It's soft on my nose. And I asked you for proper ones! You could have just given one to me," she replied, her voice getting scratchy.

"No, you _ordered_ me," he said, flinching a bit away when she lifted her hips and ground herself almost against his groin. He started to feel uncomfortable, and not only because she felt too damn hot against his red skin. His breath came quicker, and she stopped struggling all of a sudden.

"I apologize. That was uncalled for," she said, and he was caught off-guard by her sudden mood change. He looked at her lips and noticed that their perfect shape was a little swollen, as well. Not much, but visible. It was enticing.

"Your face is really full of blisters," she remarked and Varric ripped his gaze from her mouth. He loosened his grip on her wrists and placed his hands next to her head. He knew he should get up, but he didn't really want to. Her whiskey eyes locked with his and he was ensnared by _something_ he discovered here.

"Yeah, I know. Delicate dwarven skin is not made for desert sun." His answer came more automatically than he would want to admit, still staring into her eyes and trying to figure out what that _something_ was exactly.

Her hand reached out carefully, but she stopped herself short just before she touched him. A soft pink crept up her face and another something stirred in his belly. He was torn between the dread that her touch would cause only more pain on his skin, and an unexpected longing for the feel of her fingers on him.

 _Shit_ , it had been too long since he had been with a woman. It even had been too long since he had had some private time. He quickly tried to shut those feelings out. It wouldn't do any good to pursue them. She was the Seeker _and_ the Hero of Orlais, and he was just a surface dwarf who had made his way up by luck, cheating, and a bit of writing. She would _never_ let him get into her smalls. Not that he wanted to, anyway. Of course not.

He winced when he propped himself up and rolled over, onto his spot next to her. A quick glance at Cassandra told him that she was a bit flustered, as well. It wasn't easy to tell with her face being so swollen, but she was one of the few people he could read like a well-loved book. That skill had been born out of necessity, at first. He had always wanted to know beforehand where (and who) her next punch was aimed at. Now he found himself wondering if he could predict her actions on _other_ interpersonal levels as well.

A movement disturbed his thinking. She sat up, sneezed, and looked at him with a cocked eyebrow.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll give you a handkerchief." He grimaced at the tug on his skin when he threw his hands up, defeated. "But you'd better wash my sash!" He carefully turned on his side and grabbed a rucksack. The Seeker accepted the cloth with a tentative smile. A very small one, but it was there. Something fluttered in his chest.

"Alright," she answered, "I will wash it for you. I have to wash my clothes, anyway."

"Oh, if you're at it, anyway..." He shot her a hopeful look.

"Forget it. I won't wash your clothes," she turned him down without as much as a blink of an eye.

"Damn," he muttered. "A guy can hope, right?" She rolled her eyes at him and rose. Varric watched her pick up his sash, some of her clothes, soap, and a towel.

"I'm going to wash those things and myself. It will take some time."

He nodded and his glance followed her swaying hips until she was out of sight when she went down to the lake. Unbidden visions of glistening water drops on honeyed skin plagued his mind. Small rivulets of oasis water finding their way from her neck down over her breasts to a patch of dark curls that surely could be found between her–

He groaned and forcefully turned his imagination to a different topic. Donnen Brennokovitch and his fight against crime, for example.

***

Varric woke up with a start and the Seeker stood right next to him. Her hair was still wet and her washed clothes –and his sash– were hung up on a cord. She held a towel out to him. A wet towel.

"Use it to pat your skin. It'll bring some relief," she told him. He looked at her sleepily and she lost her patience, scowling at him for a second. She knelt next to him and started to carefully press the cool and damp cloth on his face, with small and soft pats. It felt good.

No, that wasn't quite it. It felt _wonderful_. He observed her face, her expression concentrated and eyes trained on her hands. His breath shuddered when she reached his neck and chest, and she jerked back, blushing vigorously.

"I think you can do that yourself," she said and pushed the towel against his chest. He nodded weakly and started to move it across his skin. The coolness it brought was soothing. Maybe he wasn't dying, after all. The Seeker let herself drop onto her bedroll with a thump.

"How are you feeling?" he asked her, spreading the towel across his arms and chest. It was nice and cool on his body.

"Ugh," she retorted and threw an arm over her eyes.

"That bad?"

She nodded ruefully. "I just hope the Inquisitor and Solas will find some elfroot and deep mushroom. Solas said he could mix a potion that should help with it." Her face was quickly distorted by another sneeze. "I cannot sleep with a stuffed nose." She heaved herself in a sitting position.

"Scared that everyone hears you snoring?" He winked at her, and then winced as the slight movement brought a fresh wave of pain.

"Nobody snores louder than you," she snorted.

"Hey, that's not even true!"

"You know it is. Do you think the Inquisitor and Solas...?" Her voice trailed off and he had a hard time following her mental gymnastics.

"I guess. Why do you ask?"

"I'm wondering why she still insists on sharing the tent with me instead of him. Appearances, maybe," she said and added, with a quiet sigh, "It must be nice living a romance."

Her voice was laced with a subtle desire that he almost missed. He watched her carefully. There always was that slight shift in her voice when the topic came to romance or love. Or his books. His eyes widened in dawning realization. She, the untouchable, serious, bristly Seeker was a _romantic._

"It's been such a long time since I-" The Seeker cast a short glance at him and looked horrified at her own words. She was beautiful with her wide-open eyes, the barely parted lips, and the blush on her cheekbones.

"I'm sorry about your mage." He took her hand and stroked her knuckles with his thumb. They were scarred and there were calluses on her fingers. Her hand was the perfect counterpart of his; it belonged there. With a jolt, he realized that it was more than mere lust that he felt for the Seeker.

_Well, shit._

"It's fine. He's at the Maker's side now. Your Bianca is alive," she answered and extricated her fingers.

"Bianca's living her own life. I'm living mine. Without her in it," he said and captured her hand again, continuing the soft strokes as he looked at her face carefully. He hoped that this was the only thing she had an objection to. He hoped the near impossible: that she could requite what he just found out that he felt.

She stared at their hands.

"Maybe you'll tell me about it one day," she said and looked into his eyes.

"Maybe," he said, "Probably." She laced their fingers together and his stomach did a somersault at her small smile. "What did just happen? I'm holding your hand and you're not punching me."

"I don't know. Do you want me to punch you?" She lay back on her bedroll, watching him lazily.

"Perish the thought! My body is hurting enough," he exclaimed. "Do you–" he hesitated and swallowed before he continued, "Do you want to find out where this–," he squeezed her hand slightly, "–will take us?" He glanced over and watched her looking at the canvas of the sun shield above them. She turned her head and something glittered in her eyes.

"I would like that," she simply said, observing him exhale the breath he didn't even notice he'd been holding.

"Good. Yeah, that's good," he replied, relief lifting his mood. They lay in silence, fingers still entwined. Varric’s imagination hopped back and forth from ideas for his books to the possibility of being with Cassandra, to the likely reaction of his friends to the news.

"Do you think we should force Lavellan and Solas into one tent?" she wondered after a while, distracting him from important thoughts.

"Do you realize that it means tent sharing for us? You were just complaining about my snoring."

"I will endure." She laughed silently and he felt how the sound tugged at his heart and wrapped it in tender happiness.

***

Three days later, he was still amazed at how skillfully the Seeker had coaxed the Inquisitor and Solas into sharing a tent. Lavellan had given _him_ a few funny looks –as if it was his doing!– and he was sure she was close to figuring everything out. It didn't really matter, though. He thanked Andraste in general, and Solas and elfroot in particular, since at least the latter two had made his life and sunburn more bearable. Cassandra was currently wrapped around him, her head on his chest, hands carefully avoiding the still-angry red V that the sun had left with the help of his halfway-unbuttoned tunic only a few days ago.

"Are you feeling better now?" he asked her, trying to think of really _anything_ but the sensation of her fingers on his lower abdomen.

"Much better. That potion really helps. But it's an effort for the Inquisitor to make it from scratch every day."

"She dragged you here, so she can brew that potion for you," he huffed.

Her fingers ghosted over his face. "Your skin is peeling. Does it still hurt?" She considered him.

"Naw, it's fine now," he replied, thankful that her hand had moved to a more innocent part of him. "I know you can't keep your hands off the handsome dwarf." He waggled his eyebrows meaningfully.

"Phrbt."

"Did you learn that from Sera? What happened to the disgusted noise you've mastered so well?"

She laughed quietly and nudged his ribs. He tilted her head up to kiss her. Cassandra sighed into his mouth, her lips soft against his, her tongue playfully teasing him. Their kiss became more heated, with hitching breaths and exploring hands. They broke the kiss and panted heavily. Varric leaned his forehead against hers.

"Do you think we'll manage to get back to Skyhold before we..." her voice trailed off, cheeks blushing. "I would like to have some privacy. More privacy than a tent can provide."

"Not if you keep on kissing me like that," he chuckled, placing a peck square on her lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to the OP for this great idea!
> 
> Dragon Age Kink Meme Prompt:  
> Cassandra and Varric are stuck at camp while the Inquisitor and the rest of his/her companions are traipsing about the Forbidden Oasis. Dwarves weren't built for a life above ground, and as such Varric's skin is too delicate for the harsh desert sun. He has a very bad sunburn, it's horrible, this is the worst, he wants to just rip his skin off, and the only company he has is Cassandra. Cassandra, herself, is not in a very good mood. Turns out she's allergic to a weed native to the Forbidden Oasis that grows everywhere. She's achy, her face is leaking, her eyes are watering so bad that she can barely see straight, and she's just generally gross to look at.  
> These two are at their worst. Somehow, this is the moment when they fall in love.


	10. Close Encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the early dawn, in the indecisive grey between the old day and the new, anything was possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Saphir for being so patient and wonderful and encouraging!

It wasn't the slightest bit funny, and to the Void with Trevelyan's smug grin and knowing look.

Cassandra bared her teeth at the big bed against the wall. It represented all she despised so much. Spoilt nobility, resting on soft pillows, and unaware of the people that actually paid the price for their convenience— taking for granted that their linen was fresh and the chamber pot empty, and sleeping the day away while servants' backs hurt from scrubbing the stone floors and restocking firewood for the chambers.

The bed posts were an artwork in themselves, though, carefully carved from oak by the look of it. The headboard was equally intricately decorated. Her fingertips trailed over the wood, and she paled when she recognized the depicted scenes. She swallowed, and then blood rushed to her cheeks.

It was lewd to stare at the wooden tangled limbs and bodies, and they gave her way too many ideas about what one could do with the right person in this bed. She ripped her glance from the carvings and looked at the dwarf.

He threw his pack on a plush chair and looked around. "One should think the Winter Palace was big enough to give guests their own rooms," he muttered, and then threw himself on the bed. He groaned and stretched his arms over his head, just reaching the headboard. "This is the softest bed I’ve been in since... shit, I can't even remember. Don't even _think_ I'll sleep on the floor, Seeker." He watched her and then put his head back to examine the carvings.

" _Oh_."

There was a slight blush developing on his neck, if she wasn't mistaken, and she couldn't quite decide if she should feel awkward or gratified.

"Don't worry," she managed to reply, "I will sleep on the floor."

"The bed's big enough. We will be back in tents too soon, anyway. I won't bite as long as you keep your hands to yourself. Or are you scared of sleeping in one bed with me?" He winked at her, and she grunted.

She took a second to think about it and nodded. He was right, in this instance, at least. She'd been sharing a tent with everyone from the Inner Circle, and if it wasn't a problem then, it wouldn't be one now. Once she'd slapped Varric's hand when she thought it was just a little bit too close to her breasts. He'd woken with a start and she'd feigned ignorance.

It had been a bit different with Bull, though. He actually _had_ held her in a tight embrace one morning, but her pointy elbow in his ribs and a quiet, but stern lecture about certain limits had put them both on the same page. There was a necessity to share body heat sometimes, but she wasn't willing to waste precious time on a distracting dalliance.

She briefly wondered how bad it could be to be a bit distracted by muscular arms around her, but she squashed the thought quickly when her eyes wandered to Varric.

Cassandra sighed and got ready for dinner. Tomorrow would be the ball, and they had best be rested as well as they could be.

***

Varric opened one eye halfway. Dim light fell through a slit between the curtains, and the embers in the fireplace glowed in a soft red. The Seeker must have gotten up during the night and put more logs onto the fire to keep it alive.

Thinking about the Seeker... There was a warm body pressing against his back. Her nose was buried in his hair and her breath tickled his ear. He felt her chest rising and ebbing steadily, and he made an effort to adjust his breathing to hers. One arm was draped around him and she moved a bit, squeezing him in the process. He held his breath now, trying to keep the moment as long as possible until he noticed that he stiffened his torso while doing so. He released a slow breath from his lungs, and she made another movement, this time to put her hand on his. Varric closed his eyes and smiled, his fingers threading through hers on their own.

Her thumb started to paint circles on his skin, and he wondered if she was doing it because she was walking in the Fade. Or maybe she'd woken up already? Unlikely, he amended. But he couldn't really tell in the muffled grey of the early morning.

The intimacy of the moment was unexpected. And even more unexpected was the realization that he wanted more of it. So _much_ more of it, to be precise.

He was completely and thoroughly fucked.

***

The ball had been disgusting, of course. But they'd achieved what they came here for. And that was all that counted, in the end.

She shot him a sideways glance. The whole day had been quite awkward. She'd woken up with _Varric_ in her arms and still wasn't sure if she'd managed to remove her limbs carefully enough without waking him up. She wouldn't live the embarrassment down if he knew that she'd been cuddling him.

And that she had wanted to keep his smell in her nose, that she'd wanted to kiss his neck, too.

But he wouldn't know that, of course. Still, it was sort of mortifying to acknowledge to herself that she was attracted to him. Or even worse, that her feelings might exceed superficial attraction.

Controlled intakes of air filled her lungs, and a short look down showed a part of the arm he currently had placed across her stomach. It moved up and down with her chest, evenly and silently. His thigh was thrown over her one leg; it was a heavy weight, but not unwelcome. Heat radiated from the body molded against her side, and she snuggled a tiny bit closer, hoping that she wouldn't wake him up. His head was half on the pillow, and half on her, his nose pressed into her arm. His features were relaxed, almost innocent.

She discarded the last thought as soon as it popped up. Innocence was nothing that applied to the rogue. Though, despite all their miscommunication and arguments and barbs, she felt good with him so near.

A sleepy grunt and a jerk made her go still. She closed her eyes again and couldn't suppress a small twitch of her lips when she felt his arm fastening around her. Not much, just a bit, and oh so wonderful. She slowly exhaled the breath she had been holding.

She contemplated turning away, destroying the moment.

And she contemplated turning _to_ him; maybe turning the moment into more than a mere string of a few heartbeats. Or maybe risking rejection.

In the early dawn, in the indecisive grey between the old day and the new, anything was possible.

She opened her eyes in a small slit to observe him again. His stubble was rough on her skin when he tilted his head a bit and cracked an eye open. He closed it immediately and began to move his arm away until she put her hand on it to stop him. His fingers were splayed on her stomach, and the soft pressure sent a small jolt through her.

"Good morning," she mumbled. She'd take the risk; nothing was worse than regretting inaction.

"Morning, Seeker." His words were muffled against her skin and she wondered if she'd gone too far, if she'd assumed too much, when she caught his hand. She lifted hers slowly, signaling to him that he could break the contact if he wanted to. Instead, he entwined his fingers with hers, and a small sigh escaped her lips. She felt his smile on her arm, a distinctive scraping of facial hair on soft skin. A smile of her own blossomed on her face.

If she turned to him now, she'd press her breasts into his face. Not really an appalling thought, but maybe a bit too forward at this stage. She scooted a bit down, and her feet bumped against the footboard. He lifted his head and looked at her bent knees.

"Your legs are too long," he commented.

"You are lying too far down," she huffed. He snickered and moved upwards, forcing her to come with him unless she wanted to have his hand on her breast. _One day,_ she thought, _definitely one day, but not now._

"Better?" he asked and raised an eyebrow. She nodded slightly. They were on eye level now, noses only a few inches apart. Cassandra turned to him, putting his hand on her side and trailing hers up his arm. It slid over smooth skin, soft hair, and coiled muscles, flexing along with her touch, and her mouth was becoming dry. She swallowed when she ran her fingertips over him. He shivered, and she almost missed it.

She moved her head closer to him, expecting to meet him in the middle. Breath caught in her throat when he swiftly licked his lips. She stared at them, tried to make sure she'd meet them, and then she was caught off guard by the look in his eyes when hers flickered up.

She'd anticipated fire, and lust, too, but not the gentleness she found in them. Her heart skipped a beat and their noses bumped.

"Careful, Seeker, my nose's been broken often enough," he teased her and brushed his mouth over hers, easing her embarrassment about the clumsy movement. She traced his light touch on her lips with the tip of her tongue. His eyes fluttered closed when they kissed, cautiously first. He was softer than she had imagined, and she slightly increased the pressure. Her lips parted, and his tongue swiped between them at once, licking hers. She enjoyed the tension that their tangling tongues built in her and closed her eyes. A moan escaped from the back of her throat, smothered in the moment he captured it with his mouth.

Her hand cupped his head, her fingertip grazing the shell of his ear while his fingers combed though her hair. She lifted her leg to wrap it around him and he pulled her close, until they were flush, and it still wasn't enough. She broke the kiss with a slight nip on his lip, panting, and kept her mouth hovering over his.

"We need to stop," she said breathlessly, and she really didn't want to.

"I hate it when you're all sensible," he replied but his eyes revealed his agreement.

"We can get some more sleep until we have to get up to travel back to Skyhold." She pushed his shoulder a bit, and he turned onto his back. Her leg moved over his and she snuggled closer, pressing herself against him, at the same time scooting a bit lower to lay her head in the crook of his neck, and when she didn't really find that position comfortable enough, she moved further down and put it on his chest. Her feet thumped against the footboard again.

"Maker forsaken Orlesian beds," she cursed and he chuckled.

"They may be too short for a tall Seeker, but they definitely are soft and cozy."

She ughed in response and angled her leg a bit. His heartbeat was slow and steady beneath her ear, and her lids grew heavy. One of his hands skated to the small of her back, a soothing touch she answered with a deep sigh. She looked up and let her fingertips wander along his jaw until he grabbed them and kissed them softly.

"It tickles," he said, and she smiled.

"Is that so," she stated more than she asked, and kissed his neck.

"I hope it won't be the Inquisitor waking us up later. Or Dorian! We'll never hear the end of everyone saying 'Told ya'."

"That's what locks are for."

"Smart woman." He kissed the crown of her head.

She smiled and let her thoughts wander in undefined directions until she fell asleep again.

***

In the twilight of the new day, a fresh page opened in the book of her life, and she started a new chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a sucker for tent sharing/bed sharing/whatever sharing. I just can't get enough of this trope :D.


	11. Huntress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On day, I woke up and thought "What if Cassandra had to find Varric once again?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to Saphir for her priceless help and patience to get my fics into a publish-able state! <3

"Most Holy?" Cassandra bent her knee before the Sunburst Throne. It was more of a routine now, and a bit for show. The Divine dismissed the guards with a wave of her hand.

"I need a Left Hand."

"Who?"

Leliana didn't answer for a few moments and Cassandra sighed. "With Charter's death, I won't like the possibility that comes to my mind, right?"

The former Inquisition spymaster smirked but stayed silent.

"I doubt that he will leave Kirkwall. Or at least not voluntarily."

"I think you have experience in making him do things he doesn't want to."

The Right Hand let loose a loud disgusted noise at Leliana's words. "A Left Hand forced into duty is not worth anything," she objected with heat in her voice.

"Then convince him. I know you can." The Divine gave her an assuring nod.

"Things have been... _difficult_ ," the Nevarran changed her tactics and tried to reason.

"A nice euphemism," Leliana stated, voice gentle.

"Your decision stands, I assume?"

"It does."

"Why not send a crow? Or one of your special messengers?" Cassandra asked exasperatedly, already giving in.

"The appointment of a Left Hand is never trusted to paper." There was more hanging in the air, unsaid.

Cassandra didn't pry.

***

Her legs hurt. She was soaked to her skin in the rain; she was cold, so _cold_ with her armor transmitting the chill temperatures just perfectly onto her tabard, and she was fed up with the hunt for the dwarf. The past couple of remaining miles to Kirkwall, she had to lead her mount after it lost a horseshoe. The long string of curses that followed the incident would have made any sailor proud.

She'd been too late too many times. It almost seemed that he knew when she'd come. A foolish thought, true, but somehow people never exactly knew where he would turn next.

In Denerim, she had missed him by about a week. Ostwick had been a closer call, but she had to take care of tedious Seeker business, so when she arrived in Starkhaven a couple of weeks later, Sebastian Vael had only shrugged his shoulders. And made a proposal a week later. He was pious, righteous, and handsome, but she still didn't know if she should laugh or cry about it. That marriage would have been full of merits. But love wasn't one of them.

He was not _Varric_ , and that was the core problem of it all.

The small door in the big gates opened for her. She led her horse through it and asked a morose guard for the next stable with a smith.

***

Two hours later, she was nursing a cup filled with dark and bitter beer.

"You're the _Seeker_ ," a dark-skinned woman with a lot of gold on her body said while she sat down next to her. It almost sounded like an accusation. Cassandra looked at her sharply and didn't reply. The woman relaxed back in the chair and took a deep slug from her tankard. "Varric described you pretty well." The Seeker's heart made a far-too-loud thump.

"But he never said how sexy that scar of yours really is." She leaned forward and pushed her cleavage out. Cassandra barely suppressed a small flinch at the unwelcome proximity of a stranger. The other woman laughed and relaxed back on her seat.

"And you are...?"

"Isabela. But you can call me Admiral."

"Pirate, you mean."

"Careful, Princess. I might make you scream my name later."

"Ugh!"

Isabela laughed. Then her expression turned hard.

"Why are you here? Come to kidnap him again?" This time Cassandra _did_ flinch back.

"No, I didn't... I have an offer to make."

"Do you." It wasn't a question. The Rivaini eyed her carefully and smirked a bit. "This better be a good offer."

"I come on behalf of Divine Victoria."

The pirate's face closed up. She pushed her chair back and stood. "He's not here."

Cassandra felt desperation grab at her heart. "Wait!" she called out and reached for Isabela's wrist. The pirate looked at the hand on herself and raised an eyebrow. A barely concealed threat glinted in her eyes and Cassandra released her. "Do you know where I can find him?"

"No."

"Are you sure? I—" she gulped, and pushed on. "I've been trying to find him for months now. I _need_ to find him. Whenever I get somewhere, he's already left." Her last words ended in an unspoken plea.

The pirate sat down again slowly. "Maybe you should ask yourself if there's a reason he doesn't want to be found."

The words felt like a punch.

"I... He... We..." she made a few attempts to start a sentence. "We didn't have a good start."

"It seems you didn't have a good ending, either," Isabela shot back.

Cassandra was silent. She watched the foam on her ale swirl and pressed her lips into a thin line when she straightened her back. It was futile to continue the chase if he didn't want to be found. Maybe he only didn't want to be found by _her_. She’d rather not think about the feeling developing inside of her if that was the case.

"It was foolish of me to come here. I see that now," she frowned. "I'll tell Lelia-, Most Holy, that he's not interested." Cassandra got up with shaky knees. She was struggling hard to stay composed. Isabela considered her briefly, and something shifted in her eyes.

She grabbed the Seeker’s hand and ground out between her teeth, "Don't make me regret this. If you break his heart again, I'll cut yours out. He's upstairs."

***

He looked exactly like the last time she had seen him. There seemed to be some hints of grey woven into his hair now, though, and for a minute she imagined simply going to him. She would cup his face in her hands and kiss him soundly, let him feel how much she'd missed him.

Of course, she did none of it.

He looked up and regarded her with a short, "Seeker."

Cassandra winced. All these weeks she had imagined them meeting, imagined them reconciling. Lovingly, of course, and passionately. And now she didn't know how to start, so she snapped a curt, "Varric."

That much said as greetings, none of them spoke.

He broke their eye contact first and moved a pile of parchment on his desk. "The answer is no," he announced and kept sorting through his correspondence.

"Do you even know the question?" she bit out.

"I like to be a step ahead." He signed a letter.

She hesitated for a moment, weighing her meager options. It was always hard for her to chose the right words, but this was even worse than usual. "What if I was about to ask something else?"

"And what would _that_ be?" His voice contained a barely-veiled undertone of bitterness.

"How do you not know, being always a step ahead?" She was getting annoyed, and the conversation wasn't going the way she wanted it to. On top of it, she had absolutely no clue how to turn it around, how to make clear what she wanted without simply begging, how to _apologize_ in a meaningful way.

"Some things evade even me, I guess." He shrugged his shoulders, noncommittally.

"Important things never do."

"Your priorities and mine don't seem to align."

"I want them to." Her breath hitched.

He snorted at that, and took a sharp look at her, eyes slightly narrowed. "Since when did _we_ become that important to you?"

She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. "Varric." She exhaled.

Elegant and polished words eluded her, leaving only the blunt, prickly, and harsh Seeker everyone knew. But wasn't that a part of her he'd claimed to care about, back then?

"I made a mistake. Forgive—"

Varric cut her off with a laugh, a hollow sound resonating in her ears, without hope or humor. “You can say that again.” He dipped his quill in the ink pot and scribbled something on another letter.

Cassandra's heartbeat stuttered unpleasantly. She hadn't made her decision lightheartedly, and it seemed the reasonable thing to do to part ways after Corypheus's defeat, with her duties as Right Hand and his responsibilities in Kirkwall... but all that it had left for her was an emptiness that none of her prayers had been able to fill.

She started pacing through the room. "Varric, please—" she began, again, and if she was begging now, so what?

"I was proud. And a fool. And maybe Leliana didn't just send me on this hunt to give me a lesson in humility. Maybe she wants to give me a small chance of happiness?" She felt her eyes stinging. "I don't know. It's a comforting thought, though." Her heart pumped furiously.

He raised both eyebrows and watched her with a blank face.

A few very long moments passed in heavy silence and her shoulders slumped. "I take it you reject my... you reject the offer. I'll tell the Divine. I—" She swallowed and took him in, for the last time.

He leaned back in his chair with his hands folded behind his head, and closed his eyes.

"It was good—" She hated how her voice broke, and she hated how she had to gulp the lump in her throat away again. She clenched her hands into fists, the knuckles turning white with the sheer force. All she wanted was to just throw her arms around him and feel his smile on her skin.

Foolish thoughts, foolish heart.

"It was good seeing you once more, Varric." A treacherous tear welled in her eye. "I won't bother you again. Farewell."

She almost stumbled to the door, drawing out the motion as she opened it before she stepped through the door frame. Maybe he would call out to her? Maybe he would hold her back?

He didn't.

She closed the door behind her and took a shuddering breath that hardly filled her lungs.

Her hurried way to the front door was like a blind run under a blanket. She hardly saw left and right, halfway knocked over a chair on her path, and noticed the pirate's confused expression only in a haze. The cacophony of fifty people talking in the tavern was silent against the pounding of her heart. All she knew with clarity was that she had to get out. Out of the Hanged Man, out of Kirkwall.

It _hurt_. It hurt so fucking much, and she bit on her lip to stifle the sob until a metallic taste filled her mouth.

She'd been hoping for too much, for happiness for herself, and never thought it possible to get so crushed without weapons, to be so helpless against the almost physical pain flowing through her body. All the time apart had made her long for him even more than before, and now it was all gone.

She'd thrown away what they had, and it was her fault alone. They both were independent adults; they would have made it work, despite the distance between Val Royeaux and Kirkwall. He'd wanted to, had been so determined, and she—

She had been a fool not to sway from the known and, of all things, _lonely_ path. The path she'd have to go back to now, without Varric, and without the joy he had brought to her life.

The hollow feeling in her chest tempted her to check if she was still intact. She wasn't sure anymore. It felt like a blow with an armored foot while she was already down on the ground. Her breathing was shallow, and she was afraid of the pain that a proper inhale would inevitably bring. She reached for the door, the cold metal a mocking mirror of Varric's indifference.

"Cassandra!" She froze with the handle in her fingers. "What the fuck took you so long?" The Hanged Man fell silent at Varric's voice and the patrons' glances shifted between her and the man on the landing of the stairs.

"Princess." Isabela pried her hand off the handle. Cassandra wasn't even aware that she'd come to her, being too caught up in her mind. "The _other_ direction is the one you should go." She brushed the tears off the Seeker's cheek and winked.

***

"I love you," she moaned into his ear when he filled her completely.

"I love you," he murmured against her skin when she squeezed around him.

 

They became the most successful pair of Hands in the Chantry's history.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha! Of course, I couldn't just let Cassandra leave with a broken heart ;).


	12. Bianca

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one's very unhappy and I don't like myself for writing it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much, Saphir! For editing, and for convincing me that it's worth more than the delete button. You rock!

She hummed when she took the stairs to Varric's room. Her trip to Val Royeaux had been pleasantly short and she was happy to be back at Skyhold. Josephine had talked her into going shopping, and the new lingerie she wore today was a result of it. Not that she usually paid that much attention to which color her smallclothes were. For the field, they had to be clean and practical, and that was it. But the seamstress the Ambassador dragged her to was a mistress of needle and thread. And two days later, Cassandra had found herself heavily packed with boxes filled with underwear and several coins lighter. The smooth silk hugged her skin like a lover's touch, and she felt positively seductive.

She knocked on his door and then opened it without waiting for an answer. Her glance drifted through the room, stopping when it reached his desk.

She froze.

The walls were coming closer, squeezing the breath out of her lungs. Her heart refused to beat for a long moment, and she couldn't breathe anymore. With a shuddering gasp, she finally drew air in.

A tangle of arms and legs was presented to her eyes. Varric pressed his lips on a blond, curvy dwarven woman who leaned against the desk, her limbs clamped around him, her leg raised and pressed along his side. She moved it with a moan and he ground his hips against her.

At Cassandra's sound, he jerked away and his eyes widened in horror when he saw her standing still in the doorframe. His... _bitch whore lover?_... didn't even blink and eyed the Seeker up and down, an approving smile on her lips.

"Your new liaison, Varric? Is she going to join us?" she asked, voice husky and words drawn out.

"Shut up, Bianca!" he snapped.

Cassandra felt all strength flowing out of her. There was a void developing in the middle of her chest and the rim of her field of vision turned white, outlines blurred.

This had to be _the_ Bianca. The crossbow designer, the name giver, and obviously also his lover, no matter how tight-lipped Varric was about his past relationships. Or not so past relationships, as it seemed.

The Seeker finally managed to send orders to her limbs again. They were as heavy and flexible as stone. Her mind wanted to flee, but her body was stuck here.

She told her legs to turn around, to stalk down the stairs, to start running through the courtyard and out of Skyhold, until her choked gasps on icy air froze her lungs and her legs gave out. She fell on her knees, the sharp pain a welcome physical distraction. A metallic taste was in her mouth as she coughed up her exhaustion. Her stomach finally turned and she emptied from it the lunch she had earlier.

She couldn't stop seeing that picture in front of her mental eye and it caused her to throw up again and again, cramps shaking her body. When the miserable retching finally subsided, she felt a loss burning her so painfully from the inside out that it was near impossible to suck in the air she needed.

Only then did she clasp her hands in front of her face and sob her soul out —ugly, dirty, hicuppy wails until the snow started to melt beneath her hunched form.

An hour later —or maybe three or maybe ten, how would she know?--, she almost missed the crunching of snow beneath light feet, and a blanket being put onto her shoulders. She felt lithe arms wrap around her torso and soft hair tickle her skin when Lavellan hugged her. Cassandra didn’t dare to look up. She didn't want to see the pity in the Inquisitor's eyes, couldn't take the knowledge that she failed once more in keeping a treasured lover.

And again, love only left emptiness, an ache she had managed to avoid for years. She'd been so eager to believe Varric's lies. They had provided a little piece of happiness she wanted to think that she deserved after all that time.

The months she'd spent in vigil, devoid of feelings, made _tranquil_ for a while, they seemed a desirable time now.

"Cass," the elf murmured, "You need to get out of the snow." Cassandra gave a strangled noise and nodded weakly. "He asked me to go after you, you know. Said something about a bad decision. What happened?"

The Seeker's form slumped even more and all she could retort was a curt, "Don't."

Her throat was raw from bile and crying, and she couldn't breathe through her nose anymore. Her eyes had turned into burning balls of flesh and her vision was blurry. She wiped the tears away from her hot cheeks with a rackety move of her hand.

"Shhh, Cass, everything will be alright.” The Inquisitor tried to calm her down, hand stroking rigid shoulders and a stiff back. It was supposed to soothe but all it did was to remind her that Varric preferred touching somebody else.

They went back to Skyhold, with Cassandra's back straight and the desperation in her red-rimmed eyes covered with determination.

***

She watched the silk being eaten by the embers that were left from the day's work in the smithy. The flames that licked along the cloth were as small as his dedication had been and just as short-lived.

 _Nothing_ was alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me a long time to write that, and as much as I hate it, I think the possibility is there. 
> 
> I promise the next fic will be fluffier :). Life's got me back.


	13. Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Are you staring, Seeker?" He winked at her.
> 
> "Don't be ridiculous," she huffed, and tore her eyes away.
> 
> or
> 
> The one where Cassandra and Varric got surprised by a snow storm. That's it, pretty much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for beta-ing, Saphir! :) I really appreciate all your time and patience!

The weather changed half a day before they reached Skyhold.

It would've been fascinating to watch how fast the sun was covered by thick, dark clouds if it wasn't for the fact that they were on a long stretch with only a few Inquisition safe houses. Cassandra hardly blasphemed. Still, in her youth, it was part of her rebellion to scare away suitors and anger her uncle by cursing. And after she'd finished her Seeker training, she actually could curse a blue streak proficiently in all known languages, if she wanted to.

But sometimes one simple word said it all.

"Fuck."

"Seeker?"

On top of the weather turning bad, she also had been suffering through Varric's presence for the two days of their travel back from the Hinterlands. They hadn't really argued, which was a small wonder of its own, and even their jabs and barbs remained civilized. If she'd dare, she'd call them playful at times. But he kept prodding and nagging, wanting to know things about her, _personal_ things that she wasn't willing to share with him yet. It was fraying her nerves, slowly but surely.

"We will be in a snow storm soon," she answered.

"Fuck."

"That is what I said," she said exasperatedly.

A few fluffy flakes coasted down, finding a place on her braid and face, melting away almost as soon as they landed.

"There has to be a hut somewhere close," Cassandra muttered, not really caring if Varric heard her or not. The melted snow trickled through her clothing, making its way through the various layers.

"Are you sure?"

The snowflakes quickly became thicker, faster, colder. They stung on her nose and forehead.

"Quite," she said. It was hard to keep a sense for direction when one could only see a few yards. "Maybe another half an hour." She unmounted her horse, and Varric followed.

"Only _quite_ sure? And half an hour more? You realize that it's getting worse by the minute?"

She turned to him, and felt how her fists closed on their own, squeezing the leather of the gloves until it creaked.

Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out.

"Varric." Another forced calm breath. "We either make our way to the safe house or freeze to death. I prefer to try to find shelter.”

A big snowflake found a new home on his lashes. It was persistent, not melting until he blinked. Her hand almost twitched to wipe it away. She ignored an uneasy feeling in the back of her mind, one that asked why she would want to act like that.

He shifted on his feet. "Yeah. What's the sign in this part of the Frostbacks?"

"A square with a diagonal wave. The trees with it should be on our left." She squinted her eyes against the snow. "Here's one."

***

It was never a good sign about Varric's general condition when he stopped complaining. And he had stopped complaining a long time ago. Winter had arrived earlier than anybody would have anticipated, and they both weren't really outfitted for that kind of temperature drop. But if even he closed his coat _and_ his tunic, that meant something.

"Maker bless Leliana," Cassandra pressed out when they finally stood in front of the hut. The stable was really only a shed, but their horses were a robust mountain breed, and would be fine, as long as they made sure now that the mounts were dry. The grooming brought some warmth back into Cassandra's hands, but the rest of her body stayed cold. It was only due to the spymaster's excellent planning for all kinds of eventualities that there was enough feed, too. She nodded to the dwarf after they'd finished, and turned to the entrance of the hut.

Varric opened the door carefully, Bianca ready in case they weren't the only ones that were looking for a dry place. She saw him shivering violently when she entered the building after him, still a thick layer of white on his shoulders.

She scanned the room. It was simple, as it was to be expected. A fireplace with a few logs, tallow candles, a chair and a stool, some cookware, a bit of necessary staples, and a small bed with a blanket that looked rather thin.

The rattling noise she heard came from her own teeth and she clenched her jaw when he looked at her with something that otherwise might've been a hint of concern. She was soaked and miserably cold.

"Start the fire and make some tea. I will chop more firewood. There isn’t enough to last until tomorrow." She took a deep breath to prepare herself for the cold, hand already on the door.

"You know that I can do that, too, right?" The snow on his head was melting, running in rivulets down his face and neck.

She had to count to ten before she answered, smothering the irregular ire which was about to break free. It wasn't Varric's fault that she was in a bad mood.

"I will see how far I will get."

She had always enjoyed working her anger out with physical exertion. Trudging through the snow storm had cost her a lot, though, and she knew her hits with the axe weren't as forceful as they should be. The heap of logs still grew, and even considering the large amount it would take to keep the hut and themselves warm, it would be enough until tomorrow.

Cassandra dragged the large log basket into their shelter, bringing a fresh wave of cold air and more snow into it. It was cozy compared to the outside, taking into account that she had worked hard to chop their firewood, and even started to feel something like warmth but not quite.

But what took her breath away, was the sight of Varric almost completely bare in front of the fireplace. His clothes hung on the few hooks that were hammered into the wall, close to the flames to dry. They threw shadows and highlights over his muscular chest and strong arms, accentuating the curly hair covering him. Her eyes followed its narrowing path until it vanished in his underwear. Not that she was paying close attention to that part of his body.

 _Maker's breath_.

The strangled noise that escaped her throat was mortifying. She could've sworn that his neck flushed when he jerked around at her sound, but he found his nonchalant self only too soon again.

"Are you staring, Seeker?" He winked at her.

"Don't be ridiculous," she huffed, and tore her eyes away.

"You should get naked, too."

"What?!" She definitely didn't squawk.

"You need to get out of your wet clothes. See, I even saved the only blanket we have for you."

She nodded weakly. How he could be so relaxed like that standing in front of her only in smallclothes would remain a mystery for the ages.

"Turn around," she demanded. He complied.

"Don't worry, I'm not looking."

 _Why not?_ she wanted to ask and managed to bite her tongue before the words spilled out. "Good," she said instead.

The wet cloth stuck to her clammy skin, making her curse a few times until she pulled off everything. She hesitated the moment her fingers touched the knot of her breastband. And then she opened it and draped it over her tunic next to the fireplace. No amount of stubbornness could suppress the blush on her cheeks, though.

"Finished?" he asked, already half-turned.

"Wait!" she exclaimed, frantically scooping up the blanket and pulling it around her chest, tucking the end in. It was a blessing and a curse, really. It ensured her modesty, at least superficially, but it also meant that the heat of the fire wouldn't warm most of her skin anymore. "You can turn around now."

Varric handed her a cup of steaming tea. She closed her eyes, inhaled the scent, and a lot of the earlier strain fell off of her, making way for exhaustion. The heat from the fire prickled on her face and upper arms, a languorous sensation she enjoyed with a silent sigh, and that hopefully would find its way through her body. Her sideways glance caught him observing her, and she quickly focused her eyes on the cup in her hands.

"What are our food options?"

"A delicious stew of leftovers with hard bread?"

"Ugh."

"Sorry, not really the place that serves quail tongues and frilly cakes." He shrugged.

"That's not my usual diet!"

"Hard to believe, considering that you grew up in a royal household." Varric smirked.

" _Ugh!_ "

Cassandra doubted that there was any way to make tasty food from dried meat of uncertain origin, apples, and the occasional potato. Still, it was hot and nourishing, and that's all that needed to be said about it. She set up another pot of tea which should purge the last bit of chill in her bones.

Finished with the important tasks at hand, her mind had time to ponder about how they would spend the night. The bed was basic and they had only one proper blanket. Varric at least had put the warming stones into the fire. The best thing about a long day out in the cold was slipping into a warm bed. She smiled at the thought and yawned behind a hand.

There was no way one of them could sleep on the floor like that without catching a severe cold, but Cassandra was no stranger to sharing bed space or even body heat.

 _Yes_ , she told herself, _it wouldn't be any different from doing it with one of her brothers from the Order or fellow companions of the Inquisition._

She watched Varric standing close to the fire place and cleared her throat. "About sleeping tonight—"

"Don't worry," he replied and waved one hand. "You can have the bed. Or we take turns."

"Don't be impractical," she snapped. "We will try to get back to Skyhold tomorrow, and with all the snow, we need to be well rested."

He stared at her like one would stare at an exotic creature. She felt heat crawling up her neck.

"You want to—" he swallowed. "You want to share the bed. And the blanket. And our clothes are still wet."

"I will not enjoy it more than you. But the circumstances require it." The blush had hit her cheeks full force now. "It is strictly professional."

Who was she kidding, she wondered.

"Of course. Professional. That's what it is."

Cassandra's face was positively burning now. She got up and used the small shovel to check the warming stones in the fire before she put them on the bed. Usually, she would place the blanket on it to warm it up, too, but it was still wrapped around her and she didn't want to let it go with her breastband still drying by the fire.

Then another thought hit her. And it hit her fiercely. One small bed. One blanket. Varric's chest without a tunic. Her chest just as naked. And the bed was really _very_ small. Despite the chill lingering in her body, sweat formed on her brow.

The bad thing was that she wasn't quite sure if it was because she found the prospect of his skin on hers rather… exciting.

"Is your… tunic dry yet?" Varric's voice sounded strained; he seemed to have caught on what the issue was.

She shook her head. "No, everything is still damp."

"Oh." He got up and checked his own clothes. "Give it a little bit longer and you could wear mine. Then you'll be decent enough. I guess." He trailed off, eyes sweeping up and down, stopping at her legs for a split-second.

His face looked flushed but maybe it was only the reflection of the flames.

She gulped an unexpected lump down. "Yes."

They sat by the fire for a while, drinking tea and being absorbed in their own thoughts. Cassandra didn't mind. In fact, she enjoyed the quiet camaraderie until he finally got up.

"Here. I think it's dry enough now." He held out his tunic to her and then turned away. It was even a little warm from the fire. She let the blanket drop and pulled the shirt over her head.

It smelled like him, of leather and the oil for his crossbow, and something she'd never consciously noticed but which seemed to be essentially _Varric_. Her knees became weak.

 _Fuck_.

He put the warming stones in the bed, picked up the blanket and lay it over the stones on the bed. A smile tugged on his lips.

"What?" she asked, trying to pull his tunic long enough to cover her bottom. It was futile; silk only stretched so far.

"Just thinking about how the bed will be nice and warm in a few moments. It's a luxury we hardly encounter when we're on missions for the Inquisition."

"You are right," she answered, a fully blossomed smile on her face. His face changed when he saw it. He held her gaze, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening, and he looked… content.

She glanced at the bed and the moment was gone. "Shall we?"

"Yeah. It won't get any less awkward."

She sighed silently when she put the warming stones back into the fire and added more wood to the embers. He was right; it must be awkward for him to share a bed with somebody he merely tolerated.

The realization stung.

"This is good," he murmured when he moved under the blanket.

She slid under the cover halfway and stilled. It wasn't possible to sleep in this bed together without touching each other.

"Varric?"

"Mh?" He watched her lazily.

"How… where…?" she asked helplessly.

"Oh." He turned onto his side, away from her. It was only a little better that way.

"I still have to put my hands somewhere," she said not quite under her breath, and felt him tensing. "I am aware that you… dislike me but—" He went rigid.

" _Dislike_? That's what you think?"

"You hate me?" Her voice was small now, feeling crushed under a mountain of confusing feelings, none of them pleasant.

"Hold on. You think I dislike or even hate you?"

"I can't blame you."

"Shit." He exhaled. "Lie down, it's getting cold again. You can put your arm around me. I won't bite it off. Probably."

She hesitated first, then carefully put one arm around him and tucked the other one between his back and her front, ignoring the fact that it brushed his bottom a little.

He was warm, sturdy, _safe_.

"Look, I don't hate or dislike you. I might not agree with your methods sometimes, nor you with mine. But we complement each other rather well." There was a small pause and her pulse quickened. "I mean on the battlefield and stuff." It sounded hurried and her heart sank at his words.

"All right," she murmured.

She tried to give in to sleep, her feet finally getting warm, but she was only too aware of his closeness. His scent lingered in her nose and she observed the thrumming of his pulse on his neck in the flickering light from the burning logs. The temptation to press a kiss on his skin, to feel his heartbeat under her tongue, to bite gently and leave a mark was more than untoward. She took a deep breath and pretended she wasn't trembling.

His fingers wrapped around her hand, opening her fist and placing her palm on his chest.

"Varric?" There was no chance to pretend now. Her voice croaked as she desperately tried to shake off the need to card her fingers through his chest hair.

"I—" he swallowed. A rough fingertip stroked the back of her hand gently. She couldn't imagine a sweeter touch. "I really don't hate you. Quite the opposite."

Her heart leaped.

"You know, a reaction would be appreciated. Any reaction," he said after a couple of moments.

She trailed a line of kisses from his shoulder to his neck, and when their lips finally met, she knew it was enough of an answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just _had_ to write something fluffy again. And I wanted snow. It's too freaking warm here!
> 
> Oh, and in case I didn't mention it recently... I'm a sucker for the bed sharing trope :D.


	14. Divine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This time, duty would shatter her life into little shards, leaving nothing of substance to ever patch it up again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a fill for a prompt on the DAKM, and it's totally SFW ;). Please see end note for more information. And it's not as angsty as it sounds, I promise!
> 
> A huge thanks to Riptide for beta-ing. I truly appreciate all your work and patience, especially when I keep asking weird questions about words and phrases :).

"That's it, then."

It wasn't a question, and somehow Cassandra thought it sounded utterly defeated, hopeless even. She shut her eyes against the telltale prickling at the bridge of her nose for a few short heartbeats.

"It wouldn't be proper," she said blankly.

"I suppose not." Varric reached up to squeeze her shoulder. "You'll be a fantastic Divine. They couldn't find anybody else better suited."

She smiled weakly. "Will you be at the ceremony?"

"Naw, I'll pass. It's time to get back to Kirkwall."

Her face fell. "But you said you would stay a bit longer—"

"That was before—" He swallowed the rest of his sentence down. "Ah, I need to go. And take care of… things. I'll see you later."

She held her empty hand halfway reaching out for him for just a little too long after he left. Then the tears came.

***

The headgear was stifling in the humid late summer air. Cassandra stretched her neck, hoping that her little signs showing how uncomfortable she was wouldn't give new fodder to the Great Game as soon as she entered the Grand Cathedral of Val Royeaux.

She had fucking known _beforehand_ what her new duties would include.

The pompous ceremonial clothing. The overly ornate headgear, with genuine gold and jewels making it three times heavier than the ones Revered Mothers usually wore. The forced participation in the Game which she despised so very much, and, still, couldn't completely delegate to Leliana. The fake smiles and outward compromises while she just wanted to punch off the false devotion on her advisors' faces and whoever thought it was a good idea to be in her good graces. Which obviously didn't only include each and every Orlesian noble but also basically all of Thedas. The list of audiences she had to hold after the official announcement was five scrolls of parchment long. She groaned. The order of them alone had kept the council busy for days on end. But she'd been unflinching on her insistence to have the Inquisitor as the first one. And she'd won that first power game, although she'd felt sick afterwards from all the cunning and deception.

Cassandra rehearsed the Chant of Elation in her mind for the tenth time today. It had to be perfect. It had to be loud, and clear, and absolutely _doubtless_ when she said it for the Maker and the main part of the Chantry to witness.

But doubt she had in abundance. It had plagued her since that last afternoon with Varric, had disturbed her dreams and prayers.

Doubt that she was faithful enough.

Doubt that she was strong enough.

Doubt that the little time between her election and the Elation was enough to decide if she was what the Chantry needed.

Doubt that she ever could forget how the light in Varric's eyes was dimmed that day.

Doubt that the growing life inside her would ever know who their mother was.

She had no doubt, though, that Leliana would find a way to conceal her pregnancy. Her Left Hand to be was skilled and trusted. But the two weeks since she'd found out were hardly enough time to really think it over. And her letter wouldn't have made it to the father yet, not even to think of getting an answer back.

"It is time, Lady Pentaghast," Mother Giselle's lilted voice pulled her out of the futile train of thought. She adjusted the headgear slightly. "They are waiting for you."

"Revered Mother, how can I be sure—" Cassandra's breathing was too labored now, too deep, and too fast. The doubts had turned into anxiety, she realized, and it was bordering on crippling panic.

Mother Giselle cupped her face. "Hush, child, you will be a good leader of the Chantry. Take courage in the Maker and his Bride."

Cassandra inhaled deeply, held her breath for a few seconds, and willed the wild staccato of her heart into a slower pace. Duty called, and duty was what had held her life together so many times.

Chantry members watched her when she marched down the aisle in a much less romantic way than she would have liked, each and everyone calculating the quality of her being Divine, measuring and evaluating their influence behind expressionless smiles.

Her mind danced to the loss of Anthony and Regalyan, a hurt softened by time. The pain of losing Varric was still prominent, though. Today more than ever, it was a sharp contrast to the meaningless plotting of the clerics around her. And the hurt to give up her child would be a hundred times worse.

Cassandra knelt in front of the altar, fingers folded flawlessly, and her pale cheeks tilted up to face the grand idol of Andraste while the cold stone pierced into her knees. This time, duty would shatter her life into little shards, leaving nothing of substance to ever patch it up again.

She knew she should find peace in the Chants during the ceremony, should empty her mind from everything except her faith, although she never knew if _Faith_ was still coming back to her or if the spirit had left for good after her vigil. And when the quiet of her mind finally settled in, the fog clouding her thoughts began to clear.

She just couldn't. She couldn't go through with this.

The Seeker —because that's what she was and always would be— shot a sideways glance to Leliana, who must have sensed her restlessness as she quirked her eyebrows almost unnoticeably. She reached out and squeezed the redhead's forearm in a silent sign of gratitude. The small trespassing of the rigid boundaries of protocol already caused a collective gasp behind her.

"I am sorry, Revered Mother, but you must excuse me." When she got up from her knees, it wasn't only gasps filling the air.

"But, child—" the Revered Mother leading the Elation stammered bewilderedly and watched her leave through a hardly known side exit with fast steps.

Cassandra knew she had to get out of the Orlesian Chantry's reach as soon as possible. Her old belongings were stowed away in a chest in her room, and packing them took no time after she finally got rid of the heavy weight on her head and the ceremonial robe. She jerked up at the sound Leliana made herself known with.

"You'll need this," she said and handed out a bundle with simple clothing. "Good thing that people won't confuse a peasant with the Divine-to-be." She winked, and then pulled out a slip of paper.

"What is that? A _carte blanche_ to leave the city? Because that is what I will need."

"More or less. A passage on a ship. To Kirkwall, if I'm not mistaken? It's already waiting for you, as I have convinced the captain that they need to sell their wares to the Chantry immediately if they ever wanted to find port here again."

"I cannot accept—"

"You can." The former Left Hand — _no_ , she corrected herself, _the next Divine_ — kissed her cheek gently. "It's not every day that somebody throws the Sunburst Throne into my lap, and I'm deeply in your debt for it."

"I have not rejected it for _you_ ," she retorted while she slipped into the disguise.

"I know. _He_ will pay you back differently, I believe." Leliana laughed, a happy chirping sound filling the air between them.

Cassandra slowly realized that she was escaping the fangs of duty for the first time in her life. She started to smile, and felt how it grew wider with every moment until she hugged Leliana fiercely, pressing the lithe woman against her muscular torso. "Thank you."

***

She stomped through Kirkwall almost four weeks later, the Inquisition coat of arms blazing on her light leather armor. The Watchful Eye with the Sword helped to keep people at bay, and all kind of Coterie thugs obviously, too, even without them knowing who she was exactly.

She'd honestly been stunned to find out that Varric recently became Viscount. With pounding hands and kicking feet, probably, but it was good to know that he now tried to officially make the city better, and not only in the background. About damned time that people knew what a good man he was.

It was only a short walk from the Hanged Man to the Viscount's Keep, but it wasn't really enough time for her to cope with her sudden case of nerves.

What if he didn't want her back? What if he found somebody else? There surely was a long line of potential wives —and courtesans— waiting for him.

What if _Bianca_ …?

Cassandra's heart pumped unpleasantly.

She still managed to confidently nod to the guards, then opened the big doors to the keep, orienting herself in the low light inside. The Viscount's office was on the first floor, she remembered, up the stairs and then left. Her I-am-important-and-exactly-where-I-am-supposed-to-be stride took her past all the guards. She'd have to talk to the Guard-Captain of the city watch about it. It was unforgivable to put their ruler in such danger. Not that she thought Varric couldn't hold his own, but better safe than sorry.

The door to what she suspected to be his office was closed. When she tried to press down on the handle, a steel-clad woman pushed herself between the door and Cassandra, effectively blocking her way.

"Who are you and what do you want from the Viscount?" the redhead snarled while she gave the guard by the door a scowl that promised harsh punishment later.

"That is a matter between Var— the Viscount and me."

"Yes, of course," the other woman answered, standing steadfast in front of the door, the sarcasm dripping off her words. "That's what everybody thinks."

"You do not understand. It is an important matter and I need to talk to him _now_." Cassandra felt her composure slipping away and crossed her arms in an attempt to reign her anger in physically.

The guard mimicked her pose. "Sure you do. Don't we all?"

The Seeker's pulse got louder in her ears, and the handful of slow breaths didn't prevent her from seeing red. Maybe her predicament made her moods a bit fouler, too, but that wasn't anything she wanted to think about now. "I have not turned down the position of Divine to be held up by a mere guard!" she snapped.

"Guard- _Captain_ , if you please," the woman shot back. "And if you are a candidate for the Sunburst Throne, then I am the King of Nugs!"

"We have met the King of Nugs in a thaig and he accepts cheese offerings! Do you take cheese bribes, too?" Cassandra shouted, noticing that the guards watched their standoff in horrified fascination. She even saw one passing something to another. Money, maybe; for a bet, probably.

"I'm done with this bullshit. Meacon, Melindra, take this lunatic into custody until she sobers up."

"What?!" Cassandra didn't squeak, never had, and wouldn't start today. "I am Cassandra Pentaghast, Seeker of the Chan—"

"Oh whatever! No _way_ you are the Seeker Pentaghast. She's much taller and a real beauty."

Cassandra gaped at her. She felt absolutely flattered that the woman seemed to have heard she was pretty, but, at the same time, a bit insulted that she didn't actually consider her beautiful as she stood there. The guards seized the moment of quiet and snatched her wrists to tie them, causing her to yank her arms away. "Leave me!"

"What the hell's going on here?" A shout came through the opening door and a very pissed dwarf appeared. "Can't you, for the love of the Maker, just _once_ manage to keep people out of my hair while I'm finishing an important letter?"

He stopped dead when he recognized Cassandra and the sudden paleness of his face made her stomach drop. "Cassan— Most Holy?" Varric looked to the guard-captain and back to her and again to the guard-captain. "Aveline, I'll handle it from here on."

_Oh_. That was Aveline Hendyr, the blueprint for the heroine of _Swords and Shields_. Cassandra flushed.

Varric grabbed her wrist, then let it fall like hot iron. "Most Holy, please follow me into my office." His voice was stiff, and distant, and she didn't like the sound of it at all. The door closed with a loud snap, just below a slam, indicating that Hendyr wasn't happy with the situation in the slightest.

"What—" He stopped himself, his glance flickering to her belly, then back up. He had gotten her letter, obviously. "Shit, I don't even know how to address you properly." He slowly dragged a hand over his face.

"I am Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast," she said, cautious hope filling her whole being. The silence following her words was deafening.

"You didn't." His eyes swept slowly over her for a handful of long moments. She held her breath, at the same time dreading and giddily anticipating his realization. "You _did_."

Cassandra exhaled as his lips twitched up in a smile. She wrapped her fingers around his warm hand and felt him squeezing back. "Yes."

He reached for her neck and yanked her down like he used to so many times before. She felt his smile tickling her lips, and her heart sped up.

"Welcome home, Seeker."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just... really really like Aveline :). I think she and Cassandra would get along very well. Just imagine the twin ughs! :D
> 
> _DA kink meme prompt: http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/15866.html?thread=60486650  
>  They were in a secret relationship but broke up when Cassandra was asked to become the Divine. She's in the middle of her appointment ceremony, about to swear the oath in front of a huge crowd (...or however else that happens, I have no idea?), when she realizes she simply can't do it, and runs off to catch a ship to Kirkwall. _
> 
> _bonus:_  
>  \+ Cassandra wants to storm into Varric's office in Viscount's Keep, but Aveline stops her because it's her duty to guard the viscount from crazies, and women who claim to have turned down becoming the Divine for Varric definitely count among them  
> \+ a happily ever after!! 
> 
> _squicks: Vivienne becoming the Divine instead_


	15. Target Practice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The corners of her lips twisted a minute fraction, almost challenging.
> 
> "Maybe your eyes have gotten worse. You are not getting any younger."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All my thanks to Riptide for being such a fantastic beta! :)
> 
> A huge thank you to crossbow.wikia.com, the website that helped me with the technical terms for crossbow construction. If you ever wondered how to [construct your own](http://crossbow.wikia.com/wiki/Designing_medieval_nut_and_trigger_crossbow_locks?file=Crossbow-13th-century-side.png), this is your place to go. I'm aware that Varric's crossbow isn't a standard one, but I assume that the basic principles are the same.

It all started after Valammar.

Dark, dusty, depressing Valammar. That place had meant hours and hours far far away from sun and sky —not that he was too fond of the sun _or_ the sky, but just on principle— and he also discovered _things_ about Bianca. The woman, not the crossbow. The weight of the stone above him must've squished his brain so that it wasn't working up to its normal capabilities. Or maybe all the darkspawn were too distracting.

Anyway, it had taken him an embarrassing amount of time to figure everything out. With Hawke dead, there wasn't much left worth fighting for after Bianca's revelation. The point not being that she trusted somebody with his secret about the origin of red lyrium, told so she would stay away from it (and now, hadn't that _really_ backfired?), but that she wasn't upfront about it right from the beginning. And in his mind, he still saw Cassandra almost charging the dwarf after she'd threatened the Inquisitor with a line that he'd once written in one of his books, and it would've been Bianca's certain death (or at least a massively crumpled hairdo) if Adaar hadn't lifted her hand to signal her to back off.

Actually, he had been surprised that anyone could be able to hold back a fuming Seeker at all. With her as fury embodied, he almost saw smoke wafting from her nose and ears. Small curls or slightly bigger cumulus clouds, just depending on how angry she was, and the perfect indicator for her wrath. Maybe the Pentaghasts did have dragon blood in them, after all. There certainly were enough rumors about it.

He quirked an eyebrow at his own imagination galloping so far away from him, then focused on the aim in front of him and shot. The bolt leered a bit to the side, hitting off center with a thump. Varric sighed. He appreciated all the improvements which Adaar supplied for Bianca —the crossbow, not the woman— but it always meant hours of re-adjusting. He shot once more, and the next bolt also made a slight right curve, again hitting off center.

The sun glared down on him, letting little beads of sweat form on his forehead while he crouched over the innards of his open weapon. A movement just outside of the corner of his eyes made him turn his head. It was the Seeker, sitting in a chair she'd obviously  dragged out of the tavern. She ignored him completely and flipped her book open, face turned to the sun, absorbing the warmth. He knew that she was always the first to freeze, never complaining openly except when they were in the Emprise. Not that it mattered much; everyone froze in the Emprise. The whole place was an icy foretaste of the Void.

But in other places, it was only a muted chattering of her teeth or a specific strain at her eyes.

He shook his head at the unimportant details his mind decided to remember, and turned back to work.

***

Cassandra had placed a few dummies along with the targets, and Varric was highly irritated when he watched her slaying and hacking innocent bundles of straw with makeshift faces. He aligned his crossbow and the bolt hit the center perfectly. A small wave of satisfaction washed through him after the tenth bolt sank into the bullseye. That should've been enough in itself, but he couldn't shake off the faint feeling of ire that the Seeker hadn't even flinched _once_. She overlooked him deliberately, and that wouldn't do.

"Seeker!"

She turned around and glanced at him. Her face was flushed from the exertion, hair spiking at different angles from her head, and she slowly lowered her dull training sword. Pretty much the warrior princess that should go into one of his books, someday. "Varric."

"Did you notice that I'm doing target practice here?"

"So?" She shrugged her shoulders.

"I might hit you if you're not careful."

"I was here first."

"Nope. The targets for long range were here first."

She huffed and clenched her hand around the hilt, probably imagining it was his neck. He was torn between taking a step back and smirking.

"What if a stray bolt hits you?"

"In none of our battles have you hit me even once. You are too good a shot."

Varric felt the muscles in his back tensing. She was right. He always had her at least in the corner of one eye when they were caught in a fight, giving her cover fire when needed, and sometimes also stealing her kill. But there was no way that he'd let her know that.

"Mere luck, Seeker." He lifted his weapon and shot again. Cassandra sheathed her sword and passed him with long strides.

He skewed the next shot when he made out her murmured words, throaty with her Nevarran accent, and wasn't quite sure if that really was a hint of a smile on her face.

"Doubt it, dwarf."

Fucking _Void_ , he wasn't even certain if that had been a compliment or a threat.

***

There was a pattern. There definitely was. He just hadn't figured out yet what it meant.

Today, she was sitting there again. Her nose buried in a book —he tried to make out the title but that would've meant getting closer, and nope, that wasn't going to happen— she sat a few paces behind him, again. It made him feel slightly self-conscious, not being able to see her face while he was on the range trying the new mod. But whenever he carefully turned to catch a glimpse, she was only focused on the writing in front of her.

He sighed and took another experimental shot. The clack of the lock mechanism sounded off. The flight of the bolts was still straight but they were slower, maybe less forceful. Varric decided to test it from a greater distance. That also meant that he could see Cas— the Seeker better. Just in case she was up to something weird, of course.

She looked up when he passed her but quickly concentrated on her book again. Varric swallowed a huff at her indifference and took aim. The bolt hit the target just below the center.  Bad aiming, perhaps, or the lock really was fucked up.

"You used to hit dead center, even from this distance."

He glowered at her. Her eyes were glued to the pages, how had she even…? "It's not me, it's the mechanism."

"Sure," was all she said, the boredom she'd shown externally painting her words in the same color. He grumbled silently.

"You know that I can strike from much farther."

The corners of her lips twisted a minute fraction, almost challenging.

"Maybe your eyes have gotten worse. You are not getting any younger."

His mouth hung open, literally. "What?!"

"Oh, your ears, too?" she asked and flipped another page.

"Listen," he growled and put Bianca against his side. Her head jerked up, eyes fixed on his face when he snapped the trigger.

"It sounds different," she mused.

"Yeah. How can _you_ tell?"

She snorted. "I have heard your crossbow from any distance and direction."

"Adaar, too. But I'm pretty sure she couldn't tell."

"I have been a warrior for three quarters of my life. Being able to see and hear the difference between friend and foe is why I am still alive. The Inquisitor is how old? Half my age?"

He tilted his head and watched her blush under his scrutiny.

"Yes, I am _that_ old," she muttered and returned to her book.

The pink looked good on her, he thought when he fiddled with the lock. That discovery startled him hard enough to get his thumb jammed painfully between the nut and the trigger.

***

Varric eyed the contraption, unsure what he was supposed to feel about it. The mechanism rattled and squeaked, releasing the… _apple?!_ with a sharp klonk and the hiss of acceleration. It started a perfect parabola until the beautiful curve was stopped by Sera's arrow. The fruit fell down with a dull, squishy sound, the feathers sticking out of it on the one side, the tip on the other. He looked at the machine, then at the gleeful elf.

"Whatcha think, dwarf? My widdle's outdone herself, right?"

"Dagna built that." He took half a step back, waiting for something horrible to happen. Or at least a small explosion.

"Yeah! Bull refuses to practice moving targets with me after I took off the tip of one horn with an arrow last time," she said and carefully stroked her hand over the engraved side of the metal body. "And no magic!" Sera patted something that looked like a big iron bow sticking out of a maze of gears, cogs, and levers.

"That's a plus," he answered dryly.

"And you can adjust it to different settings. Dagna's a friggin' genius!"

"Sure she is. Can I try?"

"Yeah. I've got a couple rotten apples. But you can load anything. Almost anything. Gotta try cabbage. And the Seeker's unmentionables she doesn't wear anyway." She winked and emptied a small bag into the funnel attached to the rest of the device, and wound the bow a few times around its axis. "Ready? Go!"

The rattling started again, and a brown lump flew across the ground. His crossbow made a clean click, and the bolt sank into the spoilt apple, bringing it to a fall. Varric grinned. That was good.

An hour later, after Cole had picked out the last bolt from a re-used apple, after laughter and cackles, after simply having fun, Varric saw a tall shadow leaning against the corner of the quartermaster's office, her index squeezed between the pages of a book.

He bowed with a flourish, and when Cassandra flashed him a smile, his heart leaped way over his head.

***

The firelight painted warm shadows on the Seeker's skin. Her teeth clattered strongly enough to mute any word she might be trying to say. They were in the Emprise, naturally, and the walls of Suledin Keep kept the harsh wind out at least. No amount of firewood seemed to be able to actually warm the rooms, though. He wondered what the fuck had happened to the tapestries that huge places like this one usually had.

Varric wheezed when he took a seat next to the Nevarran. She cocked an eyebrow and opened the blanket around her a little; a silent invitation, or maybe a dare, to share body heat. No matter what it was, the eternal winter in this region was enough reason to huddle close to her. The hard pumps of his heart were only the side effect of being near to the woman who kidnapped him and who wouldn't hesitate to eliminate any threat to the Inquisition.

He'd always been good at deceiving himself. It probably took only something like five hundred thousand repetitions to make himself believe this special line of thinking.

Cassandra's knee brushed his leg when she unfolded her thighs with a deep sigh. The touch scorched through the cloth of his trousers, through his flesh and right into his bones.

_Now_ was obviously the perfect time to start with the repeating.

***

"Teach me."

Varric shot the next bolt before the words finally reached his brain. He winced at how far he missed the flying turnip, then looked up to the Seeker. "Say that again."

She gritted her teeth, just a little, but it was enough to make him feel smug. "Teach me."

His eyebrows met his hairline. "You want to learn how to use a crossbow. "

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I might need it one day."

"You might need sneaking and daggers more."

"You are no expert with daggers."

He snorted. "I'm better than you, though."

"That's what you think. I managed to stab your book and none of your more or less vital _assets_ last time."

"Sassy, Seeker. Wanna try me?" He winked and she rolled her eyes in response.

"Later. Show me how to use a crossbow."

"Only if you pay for drinks tonight."

She regarded him with a squint. "Deal."

He smelled oil and metal, mixed with sweat and lavender when he slightly adjusted Bianca on Cassandra's shoulder.

At that point, he didn't even pretend anymore that infinite repetitions of denial would help the tiniest bit against the fluttering in his stomach.

***

Of course she would be more than punctual. And of course, that meant he was even earlier than that.

The table was in the background of the Herald's Rest, letting him face the main entrance where he expected the Seeker any minute. His idle hands played with a coaster, thoughts shifting between the menu of the day and topics that were safe for conversation with Cassandra. If it really came to the worst, he would just distract her with a hint for the upcoming chapter of _Swords and Shields_. Simple as that.

Something tickled his neck, a warm and humid ripple of air against his skin. His body made an attempt to jerk in surprise.

"Varric."

The low and sharp-clipped sound was probably the sexiest he'd ever heard his name. He swallowed and turned his head, half hoping that her mouth was still close to his ear, that his movement would bring their lips near enough for a spur of the moment decision.

But she'd already straightened her back, though maybe the hand on his shoulder lingered a bit too long to be completely innocent. Or maybe that was just what he wanted to think.

"I apologize for scaring you."

He began to shake his head. "You didn't—" He stopped himself when her lips twisted into a smirk. "You're usually pretty noisy."

The Seeker shrugged her shoulders. "Justinia never liked the sound of weapons and armor, so I opted for something other than steel and thick leather when I was at the Grand Cathedral."

He roamed his eyes over her body, only thinly concealing the appreciation of her supple leather breeches and soft tunic. Simple clothes, but good quality, just like he would expect from her.

"So you know something about sneaking. That still leaves the dagger, right?"

"Cole is teaching me," she replied.

"And you show him how to hold a shield?" He was surprised to see a blush on her cheekbones.

"No." She hesitated for a moment. "We read together."

"Aha." He waited for her to continue, prompting her with a wrinkling of the corner of his eyes.

"All right, _I_ read to _him_."

"My books, I hope." That caused the pink to deepen into a mature red, and he felt stunned. "What, really? _My_ books?"

"Yes."

"Which one?" Varric saw the warning in her eyes but he enjoyed that far too much for his own good. "Come on, tell me. Which one?"

"Several."

"Several," he repeated. " _Swords and Shields_ , too?" The deepening hue of her complexion told it all. "Seeker, you serious? You read _my_ smut to Cole?" He let himself fall back and watched her hands fiddling with the sleeves of her tunic. _Andraste's tits._

Varric started to laugh. The image of Cassandra reading raunchy scenes to the spirit boy, maybe even doing the voices? Priceless. He took a deep breath only to laugh harder when his lungs were filled with air again.

The glint in Cassandra's eyes showed amusement despite her obvious embarrassment, her lips twitching up until they split into a full and toothy grin. She was the most beautiful woman when she smiled.

The short feeling of falling into a bottomless pit sobered him up again, but not enough to not grin at her when he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "So, do you improvise at the open endings?"

She pursed her lips a tiny bit and looked at him through her lashes. "I do."

His mouth went dry at the flash running through his head of what she exactly might have in mind for a continuation, but he still somehow managed a coherent sentence. He leaned forward on his elbows on the table, quirking up the edges of his mouth.

"Why don't you get some wine for both of us and tell me all the dirty details?"

Cassandra's eyes _sparkled_.

***

She was already sitting in her chair when he turned around the corner to the practice range. There was sweat glistening on her brow, indicating that her training was finished for the day. Of course, she held a book in her hand, letting the sun highlight each and every yellow page of the old tome. Poetry, from the look of it.

Cassandra smiled up at him when he placed a hand on her shoulder and pressed a kiss on the side of her forehead, a trace of salt lingering on his lips.

"Are you going to read some of those to me later?"

She bit her lower lip, just a tiny bit, and nodded which did things to him that definitely shouldn't happen to a grown man in public.

He couldn't wait for the hours to pass till nighttime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That one was real fun to write. I'm making myself happy with all the fluff! :D
> 
> And yes, Dagna definitely would construct a small catapult for Sera!

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think! I'd love to improve my writing, as English is not my native language, so every comment/kudos is very welcome.
> 
> All characters belong to Bioware, I'm just using their big sandbox to let my imagination run wild :).


End file.
